


Meant To Be Exemption

by roadtripwithlucifer



Series: Meant To Be Exemption [1]
Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Everyone Thinks They're Together, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, multiple sexual scenes, on again off again, parallel to cannon, ridiculous frustrating miscommunicating idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 16:36:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 58,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18472843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadtripwithlucifer/pseuds/roadtripwithlucifer
Summary: Rebecca is in love with Greg. Greg is in love with Rebecca. It’s weird and sad and also kind of beautiful... in a pure and unironic way.(Follows both Rebecca and Greg from seasons 1-4 and post-finale. Heavy spoilers throughout. )





	1. Chapter 1

Rebecca hits the final note and lets her voice trail for a second. She looks up at Paula, sitting on the couch in front of her. Paula's mouth slightly agape, eyes trained on Rebecca. Neither one of the women move for a second before Paula bolts straight up from the couch, clasps her hands over her heart, and walks over to Rebecca.  

“Cookie that was… that was beautiful. Silly and remarkable and… beautiful.”

Rebecca’s body immediately haunches over like hundreds of pounds suddenly lifted from her shoulders and she starts laughing, almost maniacally, big, blubbery tears streaming down her face.  The piano lets out a medley of scattered notes as she lets her hands fall on the keys.

“But is this… how you’re going to tell him?”

Rebecca nods, using her free hand to swipe at the tears, only succeeding in swiping her eyeliner across her face.

“You know… you could just _tell_ him. You could literally just get in your car, drive to Serrano’s, and tell him. With words. It doesn’t need to be this huge production.”

Rebecca smiles and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“Its like you don’t know me at all, Paula.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to be a cheesy bitch, but here's the playlist I made whilst writing this to think about these two -  
> Greg and Rebecca - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4ozghhK1NDKIgicbp9QqfU

**Six years earlier:**

**Part 1: What’ll It Be?**

_Hey, West Covina. Look what you’re doing to me. Can’t you see, West Covina? You’re killing me, West Covina. Last call West Covina. What’ll it be?_

* * *

 

Manhattan lies outside the wall of windows - magnificent, all encompassing, bustling. And there she is, in her high rise apartment, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Bottle of wine on her dresser - empty. Covers drawn around her like a fortress, her alarm blaring. She shuts her eyes tighter, body aching as if she's run a marathon. Her laptop and manilla folders filled with deposition after deposition her only partners in bed. Four hours of sleep will do that to you. 

She’s barely making it out of her fugue of anxiolytics and wine from last night before someone stops her and whispers, all smiles and subtle winks, that she’s definitely getting promoted to partner today!

Partner at the age of 26, fresh out of law school in one of the biggest firms in New York City. Wow. This was – this is objectively amazing news? Objectively, on paper, amazing news. Right?

_I can't do this for the rest of my life._

_The thought flies into Rebecca’s head as she’s running on the sidewalk, best she can with these Leboutinis on. She rounds a corner into an alley and with shaking hands, digs into her purse. She can barely grip the bottles, pills rattling around like maracas._

_Stupid... child... safety... bottles..._

With an overly aggressive twist, the bottle unscrews and dozens of little white pills spill out onto the concrete. _Shit shit shit._ She grabs two off the sidewalk, briefly considers dusting them off, but then pops them into her mouth and dry swallows. At least her idiot psychiatrist hands out Xanax like candy. She leaves the remaining pills on the ground so at least the rats can be happy.

_Happy. I'm happy. This is what happy feels like._

She had to have imagined that sign shifting, pointing to – someone – on the sidewalk. The sunlight shines in her eye for what feels like the first time in months, although it truly can’t be shining, right? Because its mid-August, because the buildings are blocking out the sun, because she swears that the forecast predicted rain for today. Even so, she swears she feels the warmth of it on her skin. And a soft, warm breeze. That, for once, didn’t stink of garbage.

She runs out of the alley, following the glow, the light, the feeling. Its tugging at her, inexplicably, red-sting of destiny. He turns around, caramel skin, bright smile, easy posture, a colorful plaid tapestry against the background of pant-suits and gray.

Oh yes. This is a sign. Clearly. When was the last time she was truly happy? She’s transported there with an obscene amount of clarity. A version of herself she didn’t really remember. Braids, braces, hand in hand with _him._  Ten years ago, singing and dancing on the daily and getting railed by a buff Filipino on the nightly. That was _it._

A buff Filipino who just _happens_ to be in New York and just _happens_ to be walking down this particular street and just _happens_ to have beams of light shining directly on him? Okay – Rebecca thinks. That’s a little too on the nose. But the universe is a sultry mistress and Rebecca is going to let her seduce her. Just this once.  

She’s racing towards him before she really processes it, and he turns around to the call of his name. Josh. _Josh_. He hasn’t changed, not much. His jaw is sharper. His shoulders wider. His voice is confident and flirtatious and suddenly she feels herself step into the shoes of that sixteen-year-old girl with a crush on a boy who changed her very life. Who awakened something – well, multiple somethings – in her. And the way his eyes shine when he speaks of his hometown?

_...West Covina - California...._

Rebecca doesn’t really consider herself to be an impulsive person. The person that she is now, with each club, with each internship, with each class in college and law school, has structured everything perfectly. That person checked every box on the ‘happy, successful person that her mom is definitely proud of and her dad would regret leaving’ checklist. The person that she is now, though? Giant turd. Rebecca’s not gonna be that person anymore. Not when this new opportunity presented itself so readily, fell into her lap like… like that apple that bonked Isaac Newton on the head.

Maybe there’s a different Rebecca. A different life. A life where the Happy is. A life where Josh Chan is.

Old Rebecca would never buy a one-way ticket to Los Angeles, call up the only real-estate law firm in West Covina run by a overly high-pitched 1/8th Chippewa, throw all her belongings into a tiny carry on suitcase, and fly out to the West Coast. Old Rebecca, New Rebecca decides, is unromantic.

One of the first things she does when she finally settles into this new apartment is gather all her pills – the Zoloft, the Ritalin, the Xanax, even a couple spare Percocets rattling around her purse – and dump them down the garbage disposal.

Because everything was going to be fine now. She’ll never have problems again.

Because this is where true love lives. 

* * *

 

She’s the first person in months that Greg has seen that wasn’t wearing a tank top or flip flops. A manic energy follows her into the room and he can feel a burst of sweltering heat behind her.

Right. Its August. And Southern California is a hellscape. But she doesn’t betray that fact at all, sharply dressed, frantic, and almost too animated. She’s not looking at him, head looping snake-like through the restaurant.

Its almost entertaining. And Greg has seen plenty of entertaining things at Home Base. Mom’s passed out on top of his bar. Teens giving each other handies during baseball games. A dude in the back who is clearly selling weed. At least half a dozen nip slips a day from those sunburned MILFs, which, now that he thinks about it, can’t _always_ be unintentional.

Greg keeps his eyes on her, finding himself wiping the fingerprints off the glass in his hand a little bit more slowly.

“You lost?” he asks when she finally sits down. She looks up at him, doe-eyed and inquisitive. Green. _Wow._

“Yeah – I. I’m looking for a friend of mine.” she responds absently, head helicoptering the perimeter of the bar multiple times. _Interesting._

“Great! Maybe I know him. Is he 8 years old? Or an alcoholic? ‘Cause that’s what we got here.” Not even so much as a grunt or a chortle. Greg feels himself smile inadvertently.

“You’re a good listener.”

“I’m sorry, what?” she snaps back to him expectantly. She’s – she’s frantic, and distracted, and dramatic, and talking, like, way too much. He can’t take his eyes off her.

Greg licks his lips, feeling profoundly idiotic for one second. God, when was the last time he… he asked someone out? But she’s talking rounds around him, eyes lit up and excited in a way he hasn’t seen anyone look, not in a long time, not in this soul sucking, dead-beat town.

Greg smiles to himself.

 _Can’t wait to see how I’m gonna fuck up my own life with this._ He thinks, satisfied.

* * *

 

Turns out, he can fuck up his own life a _lot._

Making out with her at Beans’ party and her leaving crying should have been nail on the coffin number one. If he was a smarter man, at least as Hector puts it, he should have just let her go ahead and blow him and go home satisfied.

“Dude – if this Rebecca chick is into Josh, why not hit it and quit it? Who cares? Half this town, me included, bang girls who much rather be with him.”

Greg nods from across the bar, sliding Hector another beer.

“I don’t know. She just seems… sad.”

“Hm. O-kay Serrano… you just keep driving sad drunk girls home from parties while the rest of us actually get laid.”

Right. Sure, she’s about to pull his dick out of his pants when she bursts out crying, and sure, she was pretty insistent on keeping him in the bedroom, despite him trying to leave multiple times. So, really, he wouldn’t be a _complete_ jerk to take her up on it. But even the thought left Greg feeling dirty and creepy and off. So he didn’t. He just… couldn’t.

He nods in agreement with Hector but pulls his phone out anyway and shoots off a text beneath the bar away from Hector’s overtly intrusive eyes.

Greg Serrano (10:57am) – Hey, this is Greg from the party. How are you?

Read: 10:59am

Greg Serrano (11:05am) – You want to grab a drink or something?

Read: 11:10am

Greg sighs. _Classic Serrano._

* * *

He almost doesn’t recognize her as Rebecca walks straight into him at the corner store. She looks harrowed – eyes dark and bleary, hair haphazardly tossed on top of her head, loose fitting sweats, boobs swinging every which way. A mirror image of the girl he took to Beans’ party.

He feels his heart flutter just a tiny bit and swallows it down.

“Um – so I texted you after the party and I didn’t hear back.”

She looks down, “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’ve just been really busy with work…”

Greg files away her not-so-subtle sign that she's probably never going to text him back. But its fine. She’s clearly… going through something.  

When Hector looks her up and down and finishes Rebecca’s ‘Next time I’ll be…’ by saying ‘Better looking,’ Greg snaps back at him.

“He doesn’t mean that.”

Hector nudges him, “ _That’s_ Rebecca?”

Greg looks after her, nodding slowly, as she makes her way back to the freezer isle.

“Come on, man. Have some standards.”

 “You’re being unfair.” Greg responds, eyes following Rebecca as she walks, then stops abruptly in front of the freezer isle. And freezes.

“You don’t even know this chick, why are you defending her?”

Something’s wrong. Rebecca’s face looks shell shocked and he ignores White Josh and Hector as he makes his way towards her.

“Are you okay?” he asks, as he looks into her line of vision. At Josh Chan and Valencia. _Ah._

Josh gives an uncomfortable wave to her and Greg can see Rebecca’s hand twitch upward, mouth agape. _Huh._

Josh introduces her to his girlfriend, Valencia, as a friend from summer camp. When they were 8 years old. _Hmm?_

“Summer camp? You guys met at summer camp?” Greg repeats, trying to process the information. That is absolutely not what Rebecca told him. _Hrm._

Valencia holds out her hand and Rebecca, awkwardly, reaches forward for it and lands a tiny peck on the back. She does a little curtsy and, in a weird old English accent, mumles “M’lady.” Jesus Christ, this has to be the most ridiculous thing Greg has ever seen.

Josh points between the two of them, expression bewildered.

“How do you two know each other?”

 “Ooh, oh we met at Home Base. And we just became… casual… buds.” Rebecca quickly interjects, shooting daggers with her eyes at Greg. He zips his mouth and watches the disaster in front of him unfold.   _If by casual buds she means that they made out for over an hour and that she started crying while his dick was half-way out of his pants, then yes, Greg supposes. They were casual buds._

“Now I’m just gonna – graceful-lee exut… pursued by bear.” And she hops off, head downturned in a speed walk.

Hector and White Josh share incredulous looks and elbow him. He laughs along briefly, but…

Despite all of this – Greg, sitting on a couch next to WhiJo and Hector with his twizzlers, across from Josh and Valencia making out on the love seat in Hector’s mom’s basement, checks his phone a few more times. Just in case she decides to text back.

* * *

 

“Why, did you and Rebecca hook up or something?”

Josh responds a little too quickly, takes a large drink from his beer and looks up incredulously at Greg.

“Are you… interested in Rebecca?”

“I’m not… _not_ interested.”

“Wow, Serrano. Coming from you, that’s like a declaration of love.”

Greg has to fight every single thing in him to outright say no when Josh invites him to go _clubbing_ with him and Valencia. Greg doesn’t club. He doesn’t dance. If he wants to go to a place where the floors are sticky, everyone is wasted, and things smell vaguely like piss, he’ll go to one of his dad’s poker games.

“But dude – Valencia _really_ wants to invite Rebecca and you _said_ you like her! Come with us, man!”

“To Spiders? Spider’s Spiders’s? You think I hate myself that much?”

* * *

 

Clearly, he does.

Today’s flavor of the day Rebecca seems to be… Valencia?

She’s giggling, holding hands with V and wearing a tiny, tiny metallic dress with her breasts pushed up halfway towards her ears. Not that she doesn’t look good. Its just a little… confusing, is all he’s saying. This whole thing will go down better with a couple of shots.

As Valencia drags Josh onto the dance floor, he looks over to her and squints his eyes, index finger over his lips. She’s staring back at Valencia and Josh, looking a tad… mischievous. Rebecca meets his eyes and leans back a little, scrunching up her nose the way she does.

“What’s up with your resting Maggie Smith face?”

He looks her up and down.

“What is this?” Greg asks, using his hand to ghost-outline her body.

“This,” Rebecca pulls the neckline up, lifting her breasts a little higher. “Is called a metallic mini.”

“No, I mean when you copy another girl’s outfit. What are you up to, you duplicitous minx?”

“I’m not – not copying. I’m heavily influenced. Like Picasso was heavily influenced by early portraiture before he invented the cubist movement.”

Greg raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

“Anyway – can I get you a drink?”

Rebecca doesn’t respond, her eyes exclusively on Valencia. She’s halfway to her when she gets stopped by one of the dudes from the corner market – the guy with a giant afro, Marty?

“Ex?” He’d be more annoyed if a little part of him wasn’t saying,  _See? You knew something was up._

“Nobody knows,” she says, making an x-shape out of her arms, suddenly a concerned look over her face.

“I am so stupid,” Greg laments, more talking to himself than to Rebecca, who’s staring up at him, panicked, “This all makes sense now.”

He wants to be a dick about this. He definitely wants to be a dick about this. The hanging out with Valencia. The hanging out with _him._ Its because she dated Josh. And yet, Rebecca’s looking up at him so earnestly, begging ‘Please please please please please don’t tell’ that he bites his tongue.

* * *

 

Greg looks disappointed in her. He’s standing there, all hands on his hips in such a broody, Severus Snape-y kind of way. To be fair, she’s here to have a good time, and to hang out with Valencia who is her super cool, awesome, hot new friend. Why is he making her feel bad? Rebecca looks between Greg and Valencia a couple of times as Valencia beckons her over to dance. Greg isn’t gonna make her feel bad, or weird. Who the hell is this guy anyway?

* * *

 

He sees the whole thing go down. Rebecca is grinding up against Valencia and they’re giggling and, as he and Josh sit at the bar and laugh about all the people basically dry humping to this shitty club music, when Rebecca grabs Valencia by the face and straight up _kisses her._ Big, wet, open mouth kisses her. Greg and Josh hop off their seats immediately as Valencia pushes Rebecca off her and rushes off the floor over to one of the tables.

“This is why I can’t be friends with women! Why does everyone want to have sex with me?” Valencia is basically yelling and Josh is next to her, holding on to her arm, imploring her to go.

“Hey, please, come on, I want to talk to you, “Greg starts, trying to hold on to Rebecca and pull her away from Valencia, but she’s wasted and wiggly and he can’t stop her from saying it before she says it.

“Valencia, Valencia – it’s a circle of love! I love you, you love Josh, and Josh and I used to love each other!”

Greg cringes.

Valencia and Josh storm out almost immediately, leaving him and Rebecca awkwardly standing next to each other. Rebecca places her head in her hands and slithers over one of the seats, her whole body limp and defeated.

“Are you okay?” he asks again.

 _Are you okay, Rebecca. You’re always so crazy Rebecca. Why don’t you make better choices, Rebecca._ Rebecca thinks in a whiny voice in her head. This guy needs to get away from her. Immediately. No coffee, no flapjacks, no nothing.

She snaps at him.  “God, can you please stop being nice to me?”

Rebecca stomps her way out.

Greg trails behind her for a second to make sure no one harasses her on the street and that she gets into the right Uber. He sighs. _What are you getting yourself into, Serrano?_

Greg Serrano (11:47pm) – could you text me when you’re home safe?

Rebecca Bunch (12:15am) – Spiders’ or Spiders’s would technically be grammatically correct

Greg (12:20am) – good night, Harvard

* * *

 

She’s here _again._ God, why is she always here? He looks up and sighs dramatically as she walks in, smiling wide, low-cut shirt showing… a lot. Jesus, Rebecca.

“Hi Greg,” she exclaims, leaning over the bar to give him a full view.

Greg can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Come on, put those things away. You’re gonna poke a kids eye out.”

 “Sure, we’ve had some ‘altercations,’ if you want to call them that, but that’s the hallmark of a strong friendship! Saying the worst possible things to each other, and then going to a party!” She’s making some ridiculous metaphor about extending the olive branch when she notices Josh Chan and immediately hops up from her chair, stops their conversation, and rushes over to him.

Right. Josh Chan. This is becoming a bit of a pattern.

The crying while she’s going down on him? Nail one on the coffin. Going clubbing with her, which in itself should have stopped him, and then her _kissing_ Valencia and Valencia leaving crying? Second nail on the coffin. Lying to him about Josh Chan and making him believe she was some cute innocent little lamb? Third nail on the coffin. Greg isn’t necessarily sure how many nails are needed to close a coffin, but three seems like it would do the trick. Either way, that coffin is getting thrown into the ocean.

But – the evening is unusually quiet and he uncrumbles her invitation, kicks himself mentally, closes up Home Base and drives over anyway. He could really use a drink and the flyer _did_ say free alcohol. So seemed like good a place as any to go for those things. And, well. Can’t have too many nails in the coffin.

He sees her immediately as he comes in her front door, mustachioed man whizzing past him screaming something as he runs upstairs. She walks towards him, knowing expression on her face.

“Well, if it isn’t Mister I Cant Come To Your Party Because I have a Bunch of Complicated Reasons I Probably Have to Buy More Black clothing blah blah blah blah.”

“That’s a long name I have. Polish?”

Sure. He’ll hang around a little. Maybe he’ll have a few drinks. Maybe he’ll ask the girl with the pink highlights in her hair lighting up the joint on Rebecca’s porch if he can borrow one dance from that sexy giant fish positioned on one of Rebecca’s lounge chairs. Maybe he won’t follow Rebecca with his eyes when they happen to be in the same room, always finding her within inches of Chan, stuck to him like – something sticky. Maybe he doesn’t even let that annoy him. Even if it does. Annoy him, he means. But he knows what’s good for that feeling - more whiskey. So he grabs the bottle, positions himself on the stairs, and gets to work.

Jokes on him for thinking this girl was going to be different. Yeah, and maybe he’s a little drunk, but its hard not to notice. Rebecca’s face lights up when she sees Josh. Her body language changes. She seems innocent, electrified, gentle. He hasn’t seen that kind of gentleness in someone else in a while. It seems – weird. And sad. And also kind of beautiful in a pure and unironic way.

When she starts to usher him out, there’s one big thing he has to say to her, that he’s been thinking about all night.

“You’re really starting to fit in here,” he says, looking at her from her doorway.

She smiles immediately and places a hand over her heart.

“Aw – thank you.”

Greg sneers and staggers out.

“Not a compliment.”

* * *

 

Rebecca is laying on her couch, trailing her fingers along her neck down to her chest.

‘Beautiful, in a pure and unironic way.’ She doesn’t know why those words stick in her head. Or why she thinks about the soft way Greg spoke them, gazing off somewhere in the distance. He sounded so sincere. He didn’t seem judgy or mean. In that moment, he’s just a silly drunk goose, slurring the word ‘friends’ and reciting poetry. ‘I get it now,’ he said, slack and easy smile on his face.

Her phone vibrates, breaking her out of her thought and she hurriedly grabs it from her coffee table – _Josh?!_

Greg Serrano (10:59pm) – 

Rebecca chuckles to herself and bites her lip, placing the phone closer to her chest.

Rebecca Bunch (11:02pm) – 

She keeps the screen open to the conversation for a few minutes, absently tapping her fingers against the screen. The ‘read receipt’ doesn’t pop up, so she places her phone back on her coffee table, grabs a pillow from the foot of her couch, and hugs it tight across her chest.

She really _is_ glad Greg could make it to her party.


	3. Chapter 3

“Okay – I’m gonna head over to Home Base.” Rebecca says, closing up her portfolio and placing it in her purse. Paula is sitting across the table in Rebecca’s office, shifting through paperwork in front of her.

“Home Base? Again? Isn’t Josh at karate practice?”

“I know where he is! We – we did that spreadsheet!” The one where the two of them placed every ‘Checking in’ location Josh has put up on Facebook over the last few months, input each place on a spreadsheet. And ranked by time of day, frequency of visits, and believability of ‘accidental run in’s.’

“If you remember, believability of running into him at the dojo is pretty low! I’ll just wait for him at Home Base.”

“But isn’t Valencia off on Thursdays? Valencia hates Home Base so they _definitely_ won’t be there.”

Rebecca scrunches her nose and throws her bag over her shoulder.

“Plans always change! I’ll just wait for him at Home Base. Bye!” And she throws her door open and power-walks out of the office. Paula doesn’t move from her seat, and slowly turns around back to the table and paperwork.

“What the…” she asks herself, before shaking it off and continuing to sort through the legal briefs that Rebecca can’t seem to get through.

Rebecca sits down at the barstool right in front of him, places her briefcase on the adjacent seat and leans over again.

“Barkeep!” she croons and Greg turns around, making a show of bending at waist and letting his arms go limp in exasperation.  

“Shut up, you know you like having me here! Okay, I will order…your finest cheeseburger pizza, please!”

“That’s disgusting. Don’t you have other places to go? Other friends?”

“Well, Paula had to go to her kids… thing. And the WiFi in my building is out and I just – have all this work to do.”

“Hmm. Okay, Bunch. If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

Rebecca flashes Greg a smile as she takes her laptop out of her bag. She switches between word document to word document, glancing over her laptop intermittently. Greg catches her eye a few times and she doesn’t look away, flashing her pearly whites.

Greg just shakes his head and turns away from her, but she could swear she could see a little hint of a smile on his lips.

* * *

 

“And honestly, Paula, how is Josh even friends with that guy?” Rebecca sucks on her straw, getting a couple more boba balls into her mouth and chews thoughtfully.

“He’s like, so snarky. And mean. And he’s always, like, scrutinizing me. Its, like, get a life, Greg, right? Like, stop talking to me, and find a different personality, like the tall, dark and handsome thing is, like, so played out –“

“Rebecca – why are we talking about Greg? Josh. Remember? Josh.”

“I _know_ we’re taking about Josh! I just want to analyze his friend choices, that’s all! If you know the friends, you know the person! As Anais Nin said, ‘Each friend represents a world in us…”

 Paula cuts her off.

“We get it, you went to Harvard. Rebecca, you gotta stop hanging around Greg! If you want to get to Josh, this is absolutely the worst way to do it! Its like going to an opossum colony and throwing them a bunch of garbage! They’re never gonna leave! They’re just – they’re just gonna make a bunch of opossum babies!”

“Aren’t they so cute when they hang on to their mom’s back? Opossums are North America’s only marsupial –“

“Cookie. Stop. Stop feeding the opossums.”

* * *

‘Are you feeling disgusted and uneasy with your current butter?’ Rebecca stops frantically pacing in her kitchen, instead stopping to stare at her weirdly specific TV screen. Jason from Tinder is right up stairs, completely naked, one of his carpal tunnel balls rolling somewhere around her house and…?

 “Get out of my house?” she more directs than asks Jason. As he leaves the front door, incredulous and shirtless, she sits down on the couch, nodding her head. _Why yes, TV. I do feel disgusted and uneasy with my current butter. My current butter has a Call of Duty Black Ops Youtube channel. Whatever that is._

She plops down onto her couch and absently opens Instagram. Her entire feed is just _flooded_ with these semi-pornographic photos of Josh and Valencia. She keeps scrolling, absently ‘liking’ every single one, even if each picture was making her more and more nauseated.

Healthier choices. Healthier choices. Probably trying to not pine so much over Josh, who is with Valencia, and clearly very _happy,_ that’s a healthier choice.

She grabs her laptop and starts to Google.

She’s going to make _all_ the healthiest choices. She’s going to _win_ at being healthy. Be the _best_ at being healthy.

* * *

Greg should really stop hanging out with Chris. Chris is in this weird moment in his life – the fifth grade – where liking girls is still fun and cool. And he’s trying to drag Greg into that weird puberty thing? What Chris doesn’t realize is that liking girls is not fun or cool and everything ends up with the girl you like liking Josh Chan and you sitting alone on prom night, piss drunk, sitting outside the car that Josh is sealing the deal with Valencia in.

“You _said_ you would ask her out,” Chris points out accusingly, having a long sip from his soda. _Dude, where are your parents? Why are you harassing me?_

“Look, man. I like Rebecca, but I don’t like Rebecca. I have very positive feelings of attraction to her, but I also kind of want to punch her in the arm.” Greg says earnestly. He barely has the time to say it out loud before, lo and behold, the same Rebecca walks into Home Base. Its like she’s psychic. She’s holding some disgusting looking green drink bouncing with each step.

_Okay, Serrano. Make a comment about the gross juice._

 “What are you drinking? Leprechaun blood?” And he does the second half in an accent and laughs at himself. Rebecca squints and tilts her head at him, but doesn’t laugh. Not even a chortle _. Okay, Serrano. Maybe not that comment_

“No – I’m actually a vegan now!”

“Really? Since four days ago when I watched you house a cheeseburger pizza?”

“I’m making healthier choices!”

Rebecca glares at him and flutters her eyelashes a few times at Josh, before sauntering off to the bathroom.

_Now or never, Serrano._

 “And… that applies to your dating life?” Greg inquires, hands wringing the towel he generally had draped over his shoulder.

“Are you – really – right now?” Rebecca looks at him incredulously. For some reason, her confusion actually helps get the next words out.

“Look, I still like you. I know I shouldn’t. I try not to. You’re not that nice to me. And you’re weird. And I tell myself to stop thinking about you. But every time you show up,” _Which you do. A lot. Constantly. Why are you always here?”_ Its like, boom. Feelings.”

Rebecca scoffs. “How are _you_ a healthier choice?”

“I’m single, for one. For two, somehow I don’t find you super annoying?”

Rebecca lightly punches him in the shoulder.

“Har har. I’ll think about it.”

She’s back in her office before Paula, out of the gate, declares that even considering going on this date a mistake. But, on the contrary, Josh definitely thinks she should do it.

And, if she’s really thinking about it, doesn’t that make sense? Go on the date with his best friend, so Josh himself will _never_ suspect that she’s in West Covina for him _and_ maybe Valencia will ease up on her a little bit. It does make a certain sense.

And she’s definitely not telling herself that because a little, tiny, insignificant, miniscule flutter that occurred in her heart as Greg told her that he liked her.

Rebecca still makes a show of dramatically calling Greg and simply telling him – Yes.

* * *

 

“West Covina Taco Festival. The second best thing to do in this town besides leave.”

Greg directs her to a grassy park, now completely covered with food trucks, Mexican flags, multiple tents, rows of port-o-potties and gratuitous pictures of avocados and pigs every direction she looks. Mariachi music is playing somewhere in the background. The smell is _intoxicating._ Greg Serrano is holding a big old umbrella while his other hand is in his pocket, despite it being seventy-five degrees. And Southern California. Aren’t they in a middle of a drought?

When it starts raining, he opens up his plaid umbrella and pulls her closer to him. They happen to be almost the only people there with an umbrella, everyone else hiding underneath tents or truck counters to avoid wetting their tortillas. Rebecca is almost, weirdly proud. She’s the one that gets to be dry. Her _date_ was prepared.

They keep walking, taking tiny steps. He’s asking a lot of questions. Being Nice. With a capital N.  

“Hey – you’re telling me stuff I already know about you,” Greg interjects as she talks about her time in Boston, “I know you went to Harvard and Yale – by the way, you don’t have to keep telling me that. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Hm, oh? Okay. Lets see… little known facts about me… once a week I google trivia about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire!”

Greg retorts back, “What! Shut up. I love that fire. That’s like my favorite fire!” They bump arms a few times and she’s looking up at him. _Huh._ He’s looking forward and, somewhat expressionless, holding the umbrella and she wants to hop in front of him for a second, to catch his eyes. And its ridiculous that he uses one hand to hold the umbrella, one hand in his pocket. Who keeps both of their hands occupied at all times on a date?

“You’re kind of blowing my mind right now,” Rebecca admits, bumping shoulders with Greg intentionally. He looks down at her and smirks warmly. “Stick around.”

Around the fifth lap of the park, Rebecca finds herself at ease. At ease enough to talk about her _dad_ – surprising as that is, because a bunch of therapists have tried to get her to do that with variable, but miniscule, success rates. But he doesn’t sound pitiful and he doesn’t baby her. Instead, he makes her laugh. _Is there a glitter stand around here? I’d throw glitter at him right now!_ Its… sweet.

“So, that’s the thing with my dad.” Rebecca concludes. “What about your…mom? At the party you said your parents are divorced?”

“Oh, yeah, no. She walked out on me and my dad when I was a kid.”

 “Hm. Bonding over shared trauma. This is what normal people do, huh?” Rebecca jokes, nudging Greg in the shoulder and he smiles, sincerely smiles. Rebecca saw that smile the night of her party. The easy, soft, heartfelt one.

_Huh._

He puts the umbrella down and extends a hand towards her in front of the mariachi band and suddenly, she’s known Greg her entire life. He’s cracking up, moving his body wildly in tune to hers, doing disco-eyes, child-like and disinhibited. She knows people are looking at them but keeps her eyes on Greg and he never waivers, pretends to play air guitar and flipping imaginary 80’s metal hair at the finale. Rebecca laughs out loud and – holy moly. Old Rebecca would have never done that. She would have been so _embarrassed._ And she sure as hell wouldn’t do that in front of Josh Chan.

“You won’t regret it!”

He sings out, rumbly voice, “I wont regret it”

“Lets fill that tum-tum with guacamole,” Rebecca teases, placing a hand over his belly and one on his waist.

“I love avocados,” he sings.

He’s wrapping his arm around her for the first time that date and she naturally drifts to his waist, resting her head against his shoulder, on the way to the guacamole contest. He’s… implying wanting to come home together. It _has_ been a while for Rebecca and from the way his arms and stomach feel under her fingers, she’s sure he could do some damage. She finds herself heating up at the thought of it. She knows how he kisses and how his neck tastes and she never got the full opportunity to explore what he’s hiding beneath that belt - wait. No. No. No.

Lucky for her, Greg turns into a major dick before that feeling really settles into her stomach. _And_ he’s accusing _her_ of being dishonest? And his whole, sad, weird settle for me vibe?

Greg sincerely looks shocked as the words come out of her mouth, making her wish she didn’t say that.

"What – that’s not exactly how I remember it. But, look, I don’t want you to settle for me. We get each other. We get along." 

Greg is right, of course. They do _get each_ other. They _do_ get along. And it would be the easiest thing in the world to go home with Greg right now. Even… start a relationship. He did just show her that they’re able to apologize to each other and work stuff out. He did show her that she’s capable of being… an adult. That’s definitely a healthy choice. And if she’s going to win at being healthy, then, Greg makes a lot of sense.

But. That pork looks damn good. And that vegan dude? He definitely won’t want to talk to her, or make her care, or, like, make her open up emotionally in a way that she hasn’t ever done with another man…

So screw healthy choices. _Every_ healthy choice.

_Its all or nothing, Bunch._

Rebecca Bunch (4:38pm) – Not feeling well. Going home. SORRY.

Vegan dude is hopefully, finally getting the hint and leaving her apartment when Greg basically storms in, eyes ablaze, voice raised. He looks at her like she’s a brand new person, with such disgust that Rebecca wants to shrink and hide forever.

“You took another guy home from our date? What is _wrong_ with you?”

What _is_ wrong with her? See, what Greg doesn’t understand, is that she’s not an adult. She can’t… can’t do stuff like this. _Can’t give yourself the opportunity to potentially be happy?_ Her brain supplies unhelpfully.

“I make no sense! I make no sense! And you shouldn’t waste time on me. Can’t you see that?”

“No, all I can see is what this night could have been,” Greg responds, disappointment and bitterness clouding his voice. He takes one final look at her and storms out of her apartment.

* * *

 

Greg is so wrong about her.

Like, she’s not a bad person. Sure, she did a bad thing, but that’s doesn’t, like, define who she is as a person. Sure, she makes terrible choices all the time. And she _definitely_ doesn’t care what Greg thinks about her.

So, sure. He stops making googly eyes and even paying attention to her when she enters the room, which doesn’t matter. And he won’t smile when she smiles at him anymore. Which also doesn’t matter. And also, who made Greg the moral compass of the universe? And also, why won’t Greg pay attention to how much she’s helping Darryl with his sad divorce situation?

And it definitely doesn’t make her brain go all foggy when he rolls his eyes at her, tells her poignantly that this isn’t about her, and that she should ‘spare him.’ She’s not putting on an act! She’s just helping, because she’s a helper, and because she’s a good person.

If this helps Greg see that, helps him _forgive her, why won’t he just forgive her?_ Then how is any of this an act? Not that his forgiveness matters.

He _does_ stop ignoring her after she helps settle Darryl’s whole custody arrangement, which is like a breath of fresh air.

When he declines to buy her a beer in the stands and finally looks at her for the first time in days, Rebecca feels light.

* * *

 

The first time he says he’s leaving without batting an eye, its Thanksgiving.

“I’m quitting this job, Jerry McGuire style.” Rebecca’s eyes widen and her mouth drops a little. She doesn’t know the right words to say so she just listens next to Chris at the bar, mouth agape, as Greg talks about one of the only things that ever made him light up – leaving.

“This is… everything you wanted.” Rebecca scrunches her nose and moves in the chair, the next words a little weak coming from her throat.

“I’m... I’m gonna miss you. Can I buy you a drink… before you leave?”

Greg glowers at her.

“What’s the catch?” he asks suspiciously.

“It’s a free drink. Are you in or out?”

Oh, he’s _in_.

* * *

 

Parents love Rebecca. Oh, they adore her. She knows exactly what each parent wants and its so easy to slip into that identity it might as well be real. Everything else is easy enough. Who wouldn’t want their son to be hanging out with an attorney, Harvard undergrad and Yale law? 

This? This is easy. This is the most predictable thing in the world. Except for, well, the part when she’s stuck in the bathroom and Josh and Valencia decide to have sex for, god, how long? The _stamina._ And then he asks her to move in? While her guts are ready to explode out her butt? Rebecca never knew that heartbreak can taste the same as acid reflux, but, eh. Why not learn now?

* * *

Greg wants to be angry, but he can’t. Marco doesn’t seem to care. He keeps drinking, and smoking, and eating literal lard _._ Sure, since Serrano’s closed and he’s been sitting at home, doing nothing, he’s gotten a lot worse. All he does is chain smoke and talk to his macaws. And Greg is not having an awesome time showering when there’s bird poop on the shower floor. But that’s a discussion for another day.

So its another weekend in the hospital. And the Home Base health insurance isn’t great, but at least it covers in-hospital days. The medications, though? Not so much. Greg checks his bank app on his phone, closes his eyes tight and signs the paperwork. He doesn’t know why he keeps doing this. Marco doesn’t even take the medication. And he needs his tank refilled but the oxygen company they’re using raised the delivery prices sky high.

Jesus. Greg can use a drink.

He _did_ tell his dad that that girl is not for him. Finding himself at her doorway with tequila and tacos on Thanksgiving night probably doesn’t accurately represent that fact. But – she did promise him a drink.

* * *

When Greg tells her that he isn’t leaving, she’s weirdly relieved.

Greg sits on her left on the couch and she positions her body to face him, arm draped over just next to his shoulders. Rebecca’s face softens as she looks at Greg. He sincerely looks sad, not mean, or snarky, or angry. Just… resigned.

“He’s always been there for me. My whole life. The only person, actually.”

Rebecca nods. “Its good you have that. Not everybody does.”

“That whale didn’t.”  

They briefly discuss other options – landing on night classes, which Greg seems to be fairly receptive to, before their conversation devolves back to absently watching the TV and discussing the finer points of tacos and tequila. Particularly the kind with the worm in it.

They only take two shots each that evening. The first, experimentally, to see whether Rebecca’s stomach had settled. The second in the proper way.

Lick your hand. Pour some salt. Lick. Shot. Lime.

And the thought of putting some salt along Greg’s collarbone and licking him dry definitely didn’t cross her mind. Multiple times. And if it did, well, that’s just the tequila talking.

They finally settle on watching Rebecca’s and Naomi’s tine honored Thanksgiving tradition – The World Dog Awards. Luckily, Greg keeps an open mind.

She does an English accent, “Yes, that is one portly puppy.”

“Speaking of portly puppies…” he teases and Rebecca grabs the pillow behind his back and starts hitting him. He retaliates immediately with the giant pillow, softly, her ending up on her back and giggling as he encroaches on her.

They’re pretty close together, both breathing heavy from writhing around on the couch, hitting each other, before Rebecca can see that Greg is no longer laughing. The big pillow is already tossed to the side and Rebecca has her pillow laying on her chest, both hands holding on to it loosely on the sides.

He looks entirely serious, keeping even with one hand on the back of the couch, one hand propping himself up next to her head. She, too, stops and looks up at him. The announcer of the dog awards show continues to belt on, bright light from the TV intermittently illuminating their faces.

Rebecca feels Greg’s thumb move, making a quick circle in her hair. She breathes in deep, suddenly overwhelmingly hot. She licks her lips and keeps his gaze, her own pinky straying for the grip of the pillow and reaching out towards Greg’s arm –

Greg shuts his eyes tight, shakes his head slightly and pushes himself off the couch back into sitting position.

“I should go.”

“Oh?” Rebecca asks, doing a small sit-up to look at him, legs crossed beneath her. His lips are pursed and he’s resting his elbows against his knees, hands linked together, as if he’s deep in thought. He unfurls his hands and makes a fist with one, cupping it three times with the other.

“Yeah.”

“See you later, Bunch.”

“Bye Greg.”

Rebecca shuts her eyes tight, hugs the pillow tight against her chest, and maneuvers herself back onto the couch.

 _What are you doing, Becky?_ She asks herself as she looks back at the screen, suddenly a lot less interested.

* * *

 

Greg (9:08am) – hey Bunch

Greg (9:10am) –  there’s a showing of the martian tonight at Edwards

Greg (9:15am) – its discounted on Sundays

Greg (9:20am) – though if you can’t go tonight then we can go on non-discount days

Greg (9:24am) – or go to a different movie

Rebecca (9:30am) – tonight sounds great!

Greg (9:31am) – really? Ok. Pick you up around 8?

Paula grabs the phone out of Rebecca’s hands.

“Is that Greg again? Look at at this – what is this? He’s texted you like six times today!”

Rebecca’s voice gets a little high pitched. “Yeah, because he’s my friend! We’re friends!  We’re – we’re gonna go to a movie! As friends!”

Greg (8:43pm) – actually, you mind if we raincheck?

Greg (8:44pm) – we’re helping josh build this table for him and Valencia and it is not going well

Greg (8:47pm) – probably gonna be here all night

Rebecca (8:52pm) – oh a table for him and Valencia?

Rebecca (8:55pm) – like a coffee table or a work table or like a dining room table?

Rebecca (8:56pm) – like is it a pretty nice table? A like very lovingly picked out table? Can it seat like two grown people and a bunch of kids?

Rebecca (9:10pm) – hello?

Greg (10:09pm) – nevermind on the movie thing

Greg (10:15pm) – later Bunch

Rebecca (10:20pm) – what what do you mean never mind?

Rebecca (10:37pm) – Greg?

Rebecca (10:57pm) – Seriously?

Read 11:20pm

A few days later:

Rebecca (8:00pm) – Hey, everything okay? I haven’t seen you at home base recently

Greg (8:35pm) – just been busy

Rebecca (8:40pm) – oh. You doing anything tonight?

Read 8:51pm

Few more days later:

Rebecca (1:05pm) – let me know when you’re less busy?

Rebecca (1:23pm) – its been really boring without you

Rebecca (1:45pm) – okay, well, let me know

Read 1:50pm


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you okay?” Greg asks, lifting his face from his phone as Rebecca narrowly avoids Valencia’s and Josh’s elbows skirting around their pornographic dancing.

 “So – Greg. Haven’t seen you in a while. How are you doing?” Greg does a little half-smile and doesn’t look at her, instead choosing to intermittently look through the blinds as the bus moves along the highway.

Rebecca is watching him intently for a minute or so before he finally replies.  “Really good - night classes are great. And there are… other exciting things.” Greg stifles a shy smile and keeps looking out the window.

Rebecca moves a little closer to him, draping her arm over his seat. Even that doesn’t seem to grasp his attention. She stutters slightly before she starts speaking again. “Hmm. Yes. You know, I always thought you deserve to be happy. I always say, you know, Greg deserves to be – “

He’s nodding as if he’s feigning listening, looking out the window multiple times before quickly standing up and going to the front of the bus.

“Pull over here!”

“Pull over? What does that mean?” Rebecca turns to Josh, “Why is he being so cryptic?”

“Oh, hey… neighbor.” Heather walks on the bus. Wait. _Heather?_ Rebecca feels her breathing pick up and bile to the back of the throat _. Wait. Does that mean?_

Heather confirms that yes, while it seems weird that people are still using the word _dating,_ she and Greg are totally dating. Which is fine. Its fine. Its fine that Greg is dating the coolest, chilliest girl she’s ever met. The kind of girl that gets tattoos and piercings and stuff. Probably _also_ not afraid of clowns and trains. Totally cool. 

So its only natural as she starts her pole dancing routine she takes off her shirt and throws it to Greg. _Pay attention to me._

To Rebecca’s surprise, the pole dancing routine accomplishes much more than that. All of a sudden, Valencia is up in her face, making _weird_ accusations like suggesting that she likes her boyfriend? What? She only wants to be _friends_ with Josh. Like she wants to be friends with everyone on the party bus! Right?

“If I was into Josh,” Rebecca defends, flailing her arms around her head wildly before landing on Greg,  “would I hook up with Greg basically the first day I got here?”

Greg opens his mouth wide and shakes his head in shock. “If you can call it that. I would call it… something that should have never been spoken of on a party bus.”

And Rebecca should have known better, should have known that Valencia wouldn’t invite her to this without having some kind of plan, and Darryl and his stupid bean dip – its not logical, its not rational, but she’s in love. With West Covina.

But the way that Valencia, Josh, even Greg looked at her as the words tumble out of her mouth, she feels that familiar, soul crushing, world ending _disappointment_ that Naomi has made her so familiar with.  

When she turns to him and desperately says, “Greg – Greg, you get it” _You always get it. You get me_ and he blows her off.

But Josh isn’t blowing her off. Josh understands.

Sure, Greg veered her off course temporarily. But Josh is the love of her life.

* * *

Josh _is_ the love of her life. Right? But Rebecca can’t stop this irritating, heart wrenching, disappointed, needy feeling flittering around her head.

“He hasn’t talked to me in weeks!” Rebecca exclaims over the phone, laying back on her couch, one pillow half-way covering her face.

“That’s a good thing, cookie! Whatever you did, I’m proud! Now that he leaves you alone you can put in all your focus on Josh!”

Rebecca sighs and turns over to the coffee table, laying on her stomach. She glances to below her coffee table. There’s the bottle of tequila Greg brought over. Its quite pretty and glass and still mostly full. A nice, and totally not weird, decoration. She reaches a hand out and taps her fingers against the glass a few times.

“Right. No, you’re right. He is dating my next door neighbor and that is… great. Good for Greg.”

But, was it good for Greg? If Rebecca really thinks about it, maybe Heather is a tad aloof for Greg. And, like, maybe she’s a little young? She knows that Heather is only, like, two years younger than the both of them. But still.

When he knocks on her door as she’s getting ready to work, seeing him almost springs her for a tailspin.

“Hey – um. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah….” He looks up at her almost sheepishly, rubbing his neck. ”I’ve been avoiding you.”

“So… uh. You and Heather. Is that… still a thang?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a thang.”

“Cool, cool,” Rebecca says, nodding in an exaggerated fashion. “I am... glad you found a mating partner.”

Greg holds on to the hard drive that Rebecca gave him and tilts his head, a sly smile forming over his face.

“Since when do you care about my mating choices?”

Rebecca’s voice is mouse-like high. “I don’t! I don’t and I think I’ve shown that consistently.”

Greg glances back at her as he’s walking out her door.

He lets out a deep breath right before getting to Heathers. He’s a little sweaty and short of breath and jittery, which is clearly an effect of the coffee this morning. And nothing else. Recomposed, he slides open Heather’s porch door.

* * *

 

Greg glances towards Rebecca’s window – he’s just going to walk by, and if she sees him, cool, cool – but the window is shattered and Rebecca is sitting on the floor, in the dark. His heart leaps into his throat and he runs towards her.

“Rebecca – what wrong? Are you okay? What happened?”

She jumps up, eyes tearful and envelops him in her arms, standing so close – the closest they’ve been next to each other since Thanksgiving. Greg fights his confusion and pulls her in closer, until her body is flush with his. This – this feels _right._ He leans his head against hers and briefly takes in the scent of her hair, the perfume she’s wearing… She pulls away and looks at him with those big, beautiful, shimmering emerald eyes and he can feel the words bubbling out, on the tip of his tongue.

God, he’s going to mess everything up with Heather. And in that moment, her, clinging, warm, closer to him than she’s ever been, unreasonably intimate and he’s feeling _it,_ the reason that he’s been avoiding her.

“I – “ he starts, but his eyes veer to her dining room table.

Josh’s name. The wine with two ice cubes. Classic Chan.

Clearly, Greg graduated valedictorian in Clown College. Clearly, he’s Boo Boo the Fool. Clearly, he has the memory of a goldfish.

He shakes his head in disbelief at her. “I have to go,” he says. And he sincerely tries to mean it this time.

* * *

If Josh wants to get wrapped up in Bunchsanity, well, that’s on him.

He feels like he’s taking crazy pills, seriously, because its so _obvious_ that everything Rebecca is doing is to spend more time with Chan. But Chan doesn’t even seem to care. God, how does this woman trick _every single person_ in this town? How is he the only shmuck that can see that?

Doesn’t matter either way. She’s with this creepy, turtleneck wearing albino-Gumby looking dude named Trent, Josh is spending all his time with her, and Valencia is understandably furious. Its truly his _duty_ as a member of the community, not to mention Josh’s best friend, to help people see who she really is.

Right?

He turns the TV off a minute after Heather switches it to Rebecca’s trial but the entire bar groans and Heather grabs the remote back and turns it on. He doesn’t care that she’s commenting about her legal suit, or pounding her gavel.

And she’s definitely not _his_ girl.

But he can hear, in the background, the fact that Rebecca’s star witness has been diagnosed with schizophrenia and he shoots his head up.

He knows her body language. He knows that deer-in-the-headlights look. The same one she had when she was looking at Josh those months ago in the freezer isle of the corner store. Something was _wrong._

And when Rebecca makes that crazy, shitty, insecure, human, vulnerable speech in front of all those people – that’s. That’s just ridiculous. People don’t do that.

Heather is the one who names it first, but he channels it out as anger, opening cans loudly and chopping limes like they’re made out of rocks during the trial.

“I know guys, and that look in your eyes means – you’re in love.”

“Love? Come on, Heather –“

He can see what she means about not wanting to be second choice. So when she urges him to ‘go to her’ he does something very, very stupid.

He actually does.

* * *

Everything Paula said to do _worked._

The oil change. The fake coupon. The fake boyfriend – even if he was sort of breaking into her apartment and making her dinner and sleeping on the foot of her bed. This case? Brilliant. She wants to win for Josh, but – _I’m a good person, yes its true_ – maybe she’s realizing it again. That like with Darryl’s custody arrangement, she had to choose when to do the right thing. _Greg would be proud_ , her brain unhelpfully supplies but she bats the thought away. Not Greg. _Josh._

The fact that Josh Chan, emphatically, passionately kisses her is an… unexpected cherry on top. Paula is a genius.

* * *

“Is she still single?”

“Who cares? Who knows? I don’t even think about that anymore.”

“Why not? Didn’t you go all the way to LA to tell her you dig her?”

“Yes I did Chris. And it did not. Work out.”

Sure he drove two hours in gridlock traffic to do this big, dramatic, romantic grand gesture. Rebecca seems like the kind of girl that likes stuff like that. And he _hates_ traffic. And LA. Sure, he dumped his girlfriend/co-worker. For absolutely nothing. And sure, Heather has been shooting him eye-daggers all day but what is he supposed to do? Make good choices? Not screw things up? He’s Greg Serrano. Its what he _does._

But he doesn’t know how to feel even stupider in that moment. He doesn’t have words for it. He’s already at the courtroom door and can see Paula peaking inside. He walks up behind her and sees – _wow_. Rebecca and Josh Chan. Making out. Not a little peck. Nothing insignificant. Her tongue is in his mouth and Chan’s gripping her like his life depends on it.

Greg is the captain of the dumbass squad. Greg is the president of the United States of Naïve Morons.

Greg picks up whatever shreds of dignity he has left, politely nods at Paula, and hightails right the fuck out of there. Because life is not a two-and-a-half-star movie. And shit like that never works out. Especially not for him.

* * *

 

Paula is really funny.

Truly.

Straight up hilarious.

She’s overly animated – almost more excited about the kiss, and finding out that Josh is going to Hawaii, and getting her money to buy said ticket to Hawaii – than Rebecca is. When they take a beat, Paula beams up at her.

“This is perfect. That kiss is really a two birds one stone situation! Josh gets rid of Valderamma and we got rid of Greg!”

Rebecca stops.

“What do you mean, got rid of Greg? Why are we getting rid of Greg? What is there to get rid of?”  

 “I’m saying that that _kiss_ proves that you’re meant to be with Josh, not Greg!”

“… I mean, yeah. Obviously. Greg hasn’t, like, talked to me in weeks. And he’s dating Heather. And lest you forget, he conspired behind my back with Valencia to get this case dropped? So Greg clearly hates me. Which is fine.”

“Oh – oh honey. Then why did he show up in that courthouse and _watch_ you kiss Josh?”

“He – he did what?”

“Yeah! Oh yeah! But don’t worry – I set things straight. I think he can finally see that you and Josh are in true love! Its written in the stars!”

Rebecca nods along, eyebrows furrowed together in concern.

Why _was_ Greg at that courthouse? What did he want?

But, no time for that now.

Now, she has to go buy a ticket to Hawaii and fall in love in Kazakhstan.

* * *

 

Darryl Whitefeather: do you know where Rebecca is? I’m freaking out!!!!!

Greg Serrano: what do you mean? Why would I know where Rebecca is? Is she okay?

Darryl Whitefeather: We have no idea! Josh and Paula haven’t heard anything from her

Darryl Whitefeather: I thought maybe you have

Darryl Whitefeather: you two are close

Greg Serrano: we are not close. Whats going on?

Darryl Whitefeather: I thought you two were! She and Paula talk about you all the time at work

Darryl Whitefeather: come help us look

Darryl Whitefeather: bring a flashlight

Darryl Whitefeather: we’re at her apartment

Greg bites his lip and looks over to Heather, absently shooting olives into empty drink containers across the room.

“Heather – can you cover for me? I have – something I have to get to.”

“Sure dude. Fifty dollars an hour.”

“Seriously? Its an emergency.”

“Eighty dollars then. Dang, you really do need to go to business school.” Greg shakes his head, throws Heather the towel draped over his shoulder and basically sprints out the front door.

He fires up Google and as he’s driving over, he starts making the calls.

* * *

 

If Dr. Dream Ghost Akopian is truly Rebecca’s subconscious, then as a woman with multiple degrees, she figures this is what projecting is.

But, in this situation and this sleeping pill induced hallucination or what-have-you, Greg is here. In her apartment. Worried off his rocker for her. Calling different hospitals for her. Caring, in a very cranky, angry, indescribably Greggy way.

It almost means a little bit more. A ‘care’ kernel, as it were.

She turns towards Dr. Dream Ghost Akopian and complains.

“I guess he cares about me. I mean, he doesn’t show it. He’s always so angry at me.”

“Hmm,” Dr. Dream Ghost Akopian says. “Hot guys are kind of like that.”

That one was _definitely_ not Rebecca projecting. Right?

Dream or reality, Greg Serrano is standing in her living room as she walks through the front door. He looks a little irked, phone in hand, but he is, absolutely, one hundred percent, non-hallucination wise present. Here. Next to Paula. And Darryl. And Josh.

 “You have your reasons for staying in this town,” Greg says, tight smile on his face and he nods his head towards Josh Chan.

 “See ya later, suckers! “he calls out and waves, not really looking at her. She stops him on his way to the door. And hugs him. He’s stiff at first, but slowly places his hands on her back.  He feels… nice.

“Thank you for being here.”

* * *

 

‘If you opened your heart to the possibilities of all kinds of love, something good might happen. Maybe its time to see what else is in your life, besides Josh Chan.’

“Bye bye, Josh thong!” Rebecca throws the never-worn garment into the garbage.

_Greg is twirling her around to the sound of mariachi music. She hasn’t laughed so hard in years. He’s singing that he loves avocados and puts an arm around her shoulder. Strong, secure. She places a hand around his waist. She says, ‘Actually, lets go to my place.’ He wiggles his eyebrows. She hops onto him, piggy back style, and he basically sprints to the car. He’s picking out a radio station and complaining about the quality of NPR podcasts before she gently touches him on the arm. He looks at her, surprised. ‘Thank you for this,’ she says. ‘I had an amazing time.’ He smiles, gentle, entangles his fingers in her hair and gently moves his thumb along her lips. She looks up to him, mischievous, and kisses his thumb. He’s smiling back at her, leans over the seat and…_

“Bye bye, Josh Chan letters.” First edition. Second edition. Probably a couple dozen but Rebecca isn’t counting.

_Greg is on top of her, on Thanksgiving. One hand next to her face, the second holding onto the back of the couch, keeping him upright. He moves his thumb, minimally, traces in her hair. She lets go of the pillow, shoving it off to the side of the couch, with nothing between them. ‘Rebecca, I – ‘ She takes one hand and rubs along the arm propping him up slowly, until the hand is behind his neck. He looks mystified, and terrified, but he leans in until she can feel his breath on her lips and…_

“Goodbye, weird Josh mug and half a dozen Josh shirts that I can’t wear because I’ve grown since the age of sixteen.”

_The scattered glass lays on her floor, and she helps Greg clean it up. He’s being so patient, and gentle, and caring. She wraps her arms around him, minimizing the space between their bodies, and rubs his back. He hugs her back, tentative at first, but soon he drops the broom he’s holding and is enveloping her. They pull apart just inches before he talks – ‘Rebecca, I…’ but she doesn’t let him keep talking, just takes his face in her hands, stands on her tippy toes and…_

Rebecca shakes her head hard. What is going on with her today? Did the Dream Ghost Akopian thing send her down some kind of Scrooge McDuck Three Ghosts things? Ghost of Opportunities to have Banged Greg Past?

The whiny voice pipes up in Rebecca’s head. _Oh, what, you’re fantasizing about other girls’ boyfriends now, Rebecca? Thought you were a feminist, Rebecca. Competing for men only benefits the patriarchy, Rebecca._

She’s gotta go get a drink. Decidedly not at Home Base.

* * *

This is what happens when she has good intentions.

“Oh boy, look at this. Just what I need.” Greg’s sitting at the bar with books sprawled in front of him, a wide berth around him devoid of other people. The bartender takes one look at him and at her, grunts, and turns away.

“Hi…” she starts. _Keep it together Becky._ “I thought you drink at Home Base.”

“I drink anywhere. But I do my study drinking,” finger circles in the air, “here.”

This is what she gets for _romanticizing Greg._ I mean, come on. Greg? A guy with an open textbook next to an open container?

“This is fun. I like this. Do you want to hang out for a while and insult each other?”

Rebecca takes a pause. _Be a better person, Rebecca,_ says the whiny voice in her head.

“What would your girlfriend say about that?”

“Um, Heather? Uh, yeah, no, we’re donezo.” Greg blows a raspberry.

“Oh! Oh – are you okay?” Rebecca tilts her head. “You wanna talk about it?”

Greg hits back at her with some extra snark. She could tell he’s been drinking. There’s that iron, impenetrable wall of self-deprecation that he likes to put up. Seems like an unhealthy thing to entangle herself in tonight. And, well, she’s trying to change her patterns.

“Come on – come on! I’m a glutton for punishment. Stay, lets do this! We can make bad decisions together! We can run in traffic!” he calls after her.

Rebecca is walking back to her car, thoughts starting to swirl in her head. Him and Heather broke up? That’s interesting. That’s very interesting.

* * *

Greg might not be the man to give the best advice. Marty’s listening astutely, but, now that Greg thinks about it… she’s shown no interest. She’s way into someone else. Why give up now? May not be the soundest thing he’s said recently.

Its definitely not like he wants Allie to see Marty for the wonderful, gentle soul that he is. Marty is never going to be like his best friend Mr. Popular. Marty can’t do a handstand and he’s not the prom king and maybe he’s not the easiest person to get to know. But maybe if Allie actually gave Marty a chance and saw that he’s a caring person, and that he felt a connection to her, and that he feels that they can challenge each other intellectually and that he hasn’t felt that drawn to anyone before, then things could be different.

Hold on. Wait. Is Greg… the Marty in this situation? No. No no. Marty makes bad choices. Greg doesn’t make bad choices.

Greg shrugs his shoulders and clinks beers with Marty behind the produce section. Maybe he _is_ making bad choices. Rebecca might be right. Its time to change his patterns. Starting with studying not at a bar. Maybe working his way up to finally saying _no_ to her.

* * *

The bar has quieted down and Greg can finally take out his textbooks and actually do a little bit of studying. Sober studying. What a concept.

Maybe Rebecca is on to something, with her ridiculous butter commercial quotes of the week. _Make healthier choices, Greg. Break some old patterns, Greg. Stop being a desperate loser chasing after Rebecca, Greg-_ the annoying voice in his head teases and he shakes his head at himself. Its an hour before close – last call, 10pm – and he feels like he can get at least a solid 45 minutes before cleaning the back and closing up shop.

A flitter of annoyance runs up his back as he hears the front door bell.

 _Who could be –_ Oh.

Great. Rebecca.

She truly looks apologetic as she says, “Sorry – I thought you’d be at school and I needed somewhere to drink.”

“Well. You’re here. Its last call. What’ll it be?”

He’s almost proud of himself for setting the boundary. She’s looking up at him, all innocent and – and beautiful, asking if he wants to hang out and damn it. How many times does he have to do this over and over and over again? His stupid little heart can’t take it anymore.

“Rebecca,” Greg starts, pained, “I would love to hang out with you. But I know what that leads to for me. And I can’t. I can’t be second choice with you anymore.”

Greg watches Rebecca’s face contort into something reminiscent of disappointment? And nod her head in an exaggerated fashion. She doesn’t even touch her drink as she grabs her bag and coat and climbs out of the chair.

She almost trips over the chair, not looking, as she mumbles, “I’m gonna go. I’m – I’m gonna go.”

Greg stands alone at the bar. Last call.

It’s the right thing to do.

So why does he feel this terrible, pining feeling in his stomach?

He’s got whisky at home for that. In the meantime, he’ll close up Home Base and feel bad for himself another time.

* * *

Last call. What’ll it be. Huh.

Rebecca makes it back to her apartment and goes straight for a cupboard, opening up a bottle of chardonnay. Do bartenders realize they are saying such profound words? At any moment, Rebecca muses, a bartender could be saying these words during a big decision point in someone’s life. Not her own, of course.

_She’s just lost the case. The reporter had just left – she handed him Trent’s emails, the evidence to blow this case wide open. And now she’s alone. She’s picking up her bag and straightening out her suit when he bursts through the door in the courtroom. ‘Greg?’ Rebecca asks incredulously. He looks out of breath but he rushes towards her. ‘Is everything okay?’ she asks. Seeing him, here, her pulse skyrockets. He stands in front of her. ‘Don’t make fun of me,’ he says first and she smiles. He takes her hands into his and it’s a surprise – he’s never done anything like this before. He looks her intently in the eyes. ‘Rebecca, I – I can’t stop thinking about you. You were so incredibly brave.’ ‘Oh, Greg -’Rebecca whispers. He looks so nervous and she pulls him in closer…_

There’s a knock on Rebecca’s door. She comes back to reality and puts down her glass of wine.

“Greg?” she calls out, hopeful.

As she ushers Josh Chan out the front door, she knows what’ll it be. She grabs her coat and runs out to her car. There’s something she needs to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature rating ahead!

She bangs on the front door as Greg is stacking chairs. Urgent and worried, as always, Greg answers the door with an, “Are you okay?”

As soon as she gets inside, she tosses her jacket and purse on the floor, grabs him by the face and finally, finally kisses him. With her urgency it felt a little bit more like smashing her face against his. But. It’s the thought that counts. She feels him place his arms around her before pulling away and pushing her from him. He looks sincerely sorry as he softly says, “No, no – no, I can’t do this. I can’t eat a dusty potato.”

She’s diving head-first into another kiss and he has to push her away again. Greg is now simply incredulous. _What has gotten in to her? What did Josh do now?_

“Good god, stop, woman!”

“Greg – listen to me. This isn’t about anyone else but you. You’re not second choice. I promise.” She holds his face in her hands and goes in for the kiss again, but he doesn’t stop her. He kisses back, soft, imploring – before pulling back, shooting her pulse through the roof with the look he’s giving her right now.

“Listen – if this is gonna happen, you need to know something. This isn’t just going to be a roll in the hay and you go home. This is going to be three days of you and me ruining each other. Is that what you want?”

“When do we start?”

* * *

 

The first time is a little… urgent. She’s already half naked by the time he’s carried her to the stock room

He’s hungry for her, clearly, and his tongue is in her mouth before she even knows it. He’s stumbling a little on the way into the pantry and they giggle into each other’s mouths as he maneuvers past the door, setting her down on the break room table.  He releases her from the kiss and as she catches her breath, he goes straight to her neck, wet kisses transforming into soft bites. Her hands are inpatient and roaming, too, digging underneath his shirt and lightly scratching his back, grabbing his butt and thrusting his hips into her, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. He’s already completely hard and she arches her hips towards him, craving more contact. He doesn’t undress her fully – no time – but reaches one hand in her bra, rubbing a nipple gently between his fingers while she struggles with his belt.

She arches her back as he leans down, taking her other nipple in to his mouth, biting gently, eliciting a soft groan from Rebecca while his hands fumble with the zipper of her pants. He kisses down the bosom, over her belly, her hips, and as he pulls her pants off, over her panties as well. Rebecca pulls him back up to face level and he looks at her, drowsy, eyes glazed, drunk on this moment. “Hey – later. Somewhere a little more hygienic.” “Yes ma’am,” he growls as he picks her up by the hips and positions her closer towards the edge of the table.

“You sure you want this, Bunch?” he whispers against Rebecca’s ear as she grapples with the zipper of his jeans. She’s out of her mind right now, not being able to find the _words_ to use in this situation, looks him right in the eyes and nods while her hands reach below his belt line and –

He inhales sharply again, looking up with his mouth open and smile on his face like he can’t believe that this is happening. Rebecca grins at the reaction and starts to maneuver her palms over his – jesus Christ, wow, she only imagined what he was packing but this definitely exceeds all expectations – and he whimpers into her neck before gently pulling her panties to the side with one hand and letting one finger trail along her slit.

“Jesus Christ, Rebecca – “ he groans.

“Do you have – “ she starts.

“Uh – yeah. Yeah.” He stops kissing her for a second and reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out his wallet, then a condom, tossing the former to the side.

The action makes him pause again, and he looks at her, panting heavily, one breast hanging out of her bra, panties slid to the side, cheeks pink and eyes ravenous.

“Are you sure?”

She grabs the condom from his hands, rips it open, and before he even knows it, his dick is out, sheathed up, and ready for action.

“Stop talking,” Rebecca orders and he’s more than willing to comply.

It takes a second for them to find their rhythm but Rebecca’s head goes blank for a hot second at the feel of him. She bites into his shoulder, holds on to him with one hand. She sticks one finger in her mouth and gets to work rubbing her clitoris to his rhythm. Its out of control hot and she’s feeling it bubble in her stomach mere minutes into starting and he seems to be overcome with it, thrusting harder and faster, rhythm starting to dissipate as his face contorts into something part pain, part pleasure and Rebecca takes that as a sign to wrap her legs around him, pull his head to her mouth and kiss him, long and deep. He comes almost immediately and the sensation of him moaning into her mouth sends lightning bolts all up and down Rebecca’s spine.  

He almost crashes his car as she leans over the passenger seat, nibbling on his ear and using one hand to stroke his rapidly recovering erection.

They make it to her place in record time.

* * *

 

Rebecca sits up in bed, squinting at the light of the sun coming through her blinds.  
“Oh, man, its Monday? I gotta – I gotta go to work.”

Greg isn’t really paying attention. He’s painting kisses against her stomach, thumbs pressing deeply into her hipbones.

“Do you?” he whispers, voice low, dragging his teeth against her right hip and continuing his barrage of kisses down her thigh.

Rebecca moans quietly. He’s caressing her legs, feather light, as he’s kissing her, making his way back, tantalizingly slow, to between her legs. Rebecca feels her chest grow tighter and she licks her lips.

“Maybe… maybe I have a family emergency. And I have to fly back to Scarsdale.”

“Mm,” Greg moans, kissing on top of her mound, narrowly missing her clitoris. “Sounds like something that will take a few days.” Wet breath against her pussy and Rebecca quick dials Darryl, who picks up within a few rings.

Greg’s warm breath and lips are continuing to make their rounds, kissing just to the right, then just to the left of her clitoris. He works his pecks down, laughing slightly as Rebecca’s breath hitches at the anticipation.

“Yes! Darryl! Hi! I – um…”

Rebecca feels one finger slip in to her pussy and she shudders at the sensation, voice barely controlled, quivering.

“Yes, I um – had a family emergency, and have to go to New York…” she whispers.  

“Oh! Rebecca I’m sorry! You sound so upset, are you okay?”

He sticks in a second finger, starting a nice, gentle rhythm, kissing right below her clitoris, lapping up her wetness with his tongue.

“Oh – oh yes, I’m… just, gotta have a few…” she says in a shaky voice, eyes closing unintentionally. Greg finally, finally, lands a chaste kiss over her clit and and suddenly all her nerve endings stand on end as his wet tongue strokes her clit, gently, repeatedly, knowingly, setting every inch of her body ablaze -

 “Jesus Christ!” Rebecca almost shouts.

Greg looks up from in between her legs and casts her a mischievous grin, mouth getting back to work.

“Rebecca – is everything okay there?”

“Yesss… yes. Its, we’re, you know. In this church! Like, you know! Jesus Christ! Please help grandma.”

“… I thought you were Jewish…” Darryl trails off on the phone, confused.

“Yes okay bye!” Rebecca ends the call and throws her phone across the room, moaning loudly, digging her finger’s into Greg’s dark curls.

“You’re playing dirty, Serrano,” Rebecca groans.

Greg beams up at her. “You have no idea.”

* * *

 

He’s already asleep by the time she’s out of the shower, spread eagle on the bed, sheets barely covering him. He looks so ridiculous Rebecca has to stop herself from giggling.

Unbelievable. She can’t believe it. She’s not even sure this is the time to process it. She stands next to him, hair wet, wearing only a towel. She could put on some underwear. Wear her pajamas. Sleep on the couch, or, better yet, usher him onto the couch. She briefly considers this before dropping the towel to the floor – clean that up later, along with all these pizza boxes and empty bottles of wine – and climbs under the covers. She buries herself in the crook of his neck and places her hands along his chest, thighs flush with his leg.

She watches the rise and fall of his chest, drifting into the warmth of his body, takes in the scent of her own shampoo that he’s been using since he’s been here. On him, the coconut scent is kind of _sexy._ She gently kisses him below his ear, then down his jaw, hands making slow circles in his chest. She feels herself spreading her thighs and covering his legs with hers, allowing for a little more _friction_ between of them.

_Jesus, Rebecca. What are you, sixteen?_

“…Hey…” Greg whispers, jolting Rebecca out of her daze. His eyes are still closed but his mouth is moving. She stops moving but he uses the hand she’s laying on to make a paint a few absentminded circles with his fingers on her shoulder.

“Hey yourself,” Rebecca whispers at him. _Hey, yourself? Becky what are you doing._

He lowers his chin to his chest and takes a tiny huff of her hair.

“You smell nice,” he whispers out. Rebecca resumes running her finger along his chest, up and down, making her way underneath the sheets.

“I remember it from hugging you… I like it.” His fingers are trailing down her arm and Rebecca nudges her whole body forward, gently moving her hips against him.

“Mhhm…” she whispers, heart suddenly racing, each of her nerves standing on end. If Serrano keeps talking to her in that sleepy voice and touching her lightly like this with his fingertips she’s going to explode.

Her fingers flutter over his belly, over his hips. To her surprise, he’s completely hard and she tentatively runs her fingers over the head of his penis, feeling a tiny bit of pre-cum.

Greg sighs dreamily and opens his eyes, turning his head to look at her. Rebecca’s pupils are blows, she knows, and she’s breathing hot air against his collarbone. He’s looking at her as she brings the same finger with his pre-cum and puts it in her mouth, never breaking eye contact.

He chuckles, looking up to the ceiling in utter disbelief. He turns to face her and leans in for a kiss. Soft and chaste at first, he deepens it. She feels his tongue slide into her mouth, deep and imploring and she tightens her grip around his shoulders, balancing as her world tilts on its axis.

His hips start to move and glide against her pelvis, expectantly slick. With each movement he hits her clit for a brief second, sending lightningbolt after lightningbolt through her spine. Tongue intertwined with hers she digs her fingernails lazily into this back while he continues to trace little patterns on her back. She doesn’t break the kiss, just reaches blindly over to her nightstand, knocking over an empty box of takeout and grabbing a condom. She doesn’t even need to open her eyes for this. She’s done this enough to do it in her sleep.

When she’s a panting mess against his mouth, he smiles sleepily and tracks one hand to her pussy, guiding his dick inside.

He thrusts lazily, the two of them rocking together. His eyes are still closed but his lips part in a few quiet sighs. He keeps landing fluttery, gentle kisses along her chest simultaneously, tongue teasing her nipples and she holds on to his neck for dear life. In a moment of daring, Rebecca intertwines her hand into Greg’s hair, pulling gently, eliciting a loud moan and him opening his eyes, almost shocked but bleary. _Very interesting, Serrano. Should have had you pegged for someone who likes pain_ Rebecca thinks.

He licks his fingers and shoves them under the covers, fingertips now wetly trailing over her clit in small circles. Its awkward and the rhythms don’t match up but the hot light builds up behind her eyes quickly and she grabs his hand to stop, biting weakly into his shoulders. She only moans out after the afterglow of her orgasm for a second or two before she feels the pulsation of him also being done, satisfied sigh escaping his sleepy lips.

Sweaty and drained, they’re wrapped in each other’s arms, but Greg keeps kissing her softly, against the corners of her lips, over her cheeks, over her nose, over her eyes. He draws his arms around her tightly, drawing her closer to his chest.

“Rebecca… I…” Rebecca’s pulse speeds up and she looks up at him. His eyes are open but he looks far away and he knits hit eyebrows in concern before looking back down at her and smiling gently.

“I think we should get some sleep.”

Rebecca’s hopes fall. She turns around and settles into the crook of him. He snakes a hand around her and rests his face against her hair.

Greg feels Rebecca’s breathing even out before he even lets himself think it. _Idiot, Serrano. You almost let something slip. You want to ruin all of this?_

Greg grits his teeth, buries his face in Rebecca’s hair, and lets himself drift off to sleep.

* * *

 

It hurts to walk.

She’s so raw that even sitting for too long hurts. But it also means every nerve fiber in and around her pussy is on fire and intensely sensitive, and every time Greg finds his way inside her, which is _a lot_ , lightning bolts shoot in every direction and she becomes so delirious from want she forgets all about the pain.

72 hours, four bottles of wine, two pizzas and Chinese food from two different delivery places litter her bedroom. Her bed sheets must be mostly sweat, spit, and other various bodily fluids at this point. After fucking for 72 hours straight and never leaving the bed, there’s not a lot you can hide from the person you’re with. Rebecca thinks it’s a little sexy that they went from two people that couldn’t stand each other to two people that knew what each inch of each other’s skin tastes like. _We have a bit of a Sam and Diane thing going on._ Newly pleasant and sexy.  

And while she’s tasting his nooks and crannies, she could swear that Greg is very akin, even close, to wanting to talk to her about this. Oh, he _likes_ her.

As Greg is putting his pants on, Rebecca stops him briefly. “We should probably talk for a second. You probably want to talk about, you know, all these changes and how our relationship is evolving cause we had such a complex history…”

“Oh, you mean because you, like, broke my heart a bunch of times? I don’t care about that anymore.” He replies, smiling nonchalantly.  “Honestly, its like a distant memory.”

Rebecca feels her heart drop. Really? When they’re making – uh, fucking, she could swear that…

 _Wow. Okay._ “Okay – so you just what to keep things casual?” she says, voice an octave higher than usual, nodding in a rapid manner.

“Yep. Just light and polite. Except in the bedroom. Ya dig?”

Greg leaves her bedroom and starts to mentally kick himself. _You’re so pretty? Light and polite? Ya dig? Who the fuck are you all of a sudden?_ Greg pushes the feeling down, grips his car keys tight in his fist and makes his way outside her apartment. Where he’s spent the past 72 plus hours. Enveloped in her. Drowning in her. Surrounded by her laugh, her lips, her body. Jesus. He’s not even sure this isn’t a all dream. Even if it isn’t, he still has to wake up. Because now that this – _this_ – is over, Rebecca is going to realize she doesn’t care about him. He’s just gonna fuck it up.

God, he needs to stay in this limbo. This limbo where he’s close to her, when she still looks at him with those beautiful, earnest, wanting eyes, when he can still fall asleep next to her. He’ll do anything to stay there.

* * *

 

Paula’s not right – is she?

She clearly just doesn’t like Greg. Greg isn’t completely shut down. And he’s not _that_ angry. And he’s _not_ that much of a booze hound. Those are not his defining characteristics! He’s also funny. And smart. And tender. Maybe a little aloof, but she’ll wear ‘im down.

He wants to keep things casual, and that’s fine by her so far. After all. Other than the marathon fucking sessions, there’s no other place for feelings to slip in a little. Many other things are slipping against many other things, Rebecca muses, but feelings? Not one of them. _Light and polite._

* * *

He’s been spending the night, every night. Waking up next to him is akin to her first cup of coffee, adrenaline punching her in the stomach. Has he always been so _beautiful?_ Dark curls haphazard on his head. Pink, pouting lips. Long eyelashes. The green of his eyes is _indescribable._ She can’t describe it. She just wants to look into those eyes forever. Unfortunately, Serrano is a man who likes to close his eyes during sex. Which is pretty darn adorable. She can watch his chest rise and fall with sleep forever. Sometimes she does. He’s so sharp and quick-witted. Seeing him smile after he lands a joke? Priceless. His sordid self-giggle? Beautiful. His cute little button nose? A travesty to this world. Rebecca must be losing her mind.

* * *

Has she always been so _beautiful?_ She’s not wearing any makeup and her hair is a nest of curls going every which way along her head. She’s smiling at him – always smiling at him lately. Those endless, inconceivable, emerald eyes that can always melt him into a puddle. Her laugh. God, her _laugh_. The cute way she bounces off the bed and kisses him on the cheek. She’s a little haphazard, sleeping closer and closer to him every night. She’s against his chest, or gripping on to his arms. He has to imprint this into his memory. And so he stays silent and watches her. What a ticking timebomb.

* * *

She starts lighting candles when he comes over, her heart fluttering in her chest as she throws together some cheese and crackers and opens a new bottle of wine. Rebecca can’t place her finger on why she’s so fidgety, why she’s spending extra time fixing her hair in the mirror, or wearing cute underwear. She isn’t sure why she’s waiting for his texts at work, barely able to look at her legal briefs, every emoji from his sending wave after wave of joy through her chest. Heart emoji. Heart _eye_ emoji. Many eggplant emojis. And then, lets see, about a dozen more hearts. Oh my god. She _likes_ him.

* * *

“You owe me a movie, Serrano.”

“You want to go outside? Me and you?” Greg asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“To be fair,” Rebecca quips, sitting up in bed, wrestling to put her bra back on, “This is something that we were supposed to do a while back. As friends. And you so rudely cancelled on me. So I want to see a movie.”

Greg shuts his mouth tight and allows for the flicker of annoyance he feels at Rebecca’s nonchalant tone. _Yeah,_ he thinks, _I so rudely cancelled because you wouldn’t stop asking questions about Josh._

Greg quickly browses through his phone.

“How ‘bout Mad Max? I heard that its ‘a feminist narrative about women refusing to be objectified, reclaiming their reproductive rights and overthrowing the patriarchy.”

“Mmm. I love when you talk feminist theory,” Rebecca coaxes, already somehow straddling his lap, kissing the corner of his lips.

“We’re never gonna get out of this room if you keep doing this,” Greg retorns, smiling and leaning in to her kiss. They’ll go to the later showing. Right now, he needs to toss this girl on her back and show her what’s-what.

Greg can’t stop smiling. He orders them a large tub of popcorn and a gargantuan Coke Zero for them to share. Rebecca adds an exuberant amount of butter. The movie theater’s fairly full, but she still makes a show of licking said butter off her fingers, which almost _almost_ ends up with the two of them breaking a baby changing station in a family bathroom.

As they exit the movie theater, Rebecca naturally grabs for his hand. Their fingers intertwine and god, is Greg… blushing? He’s literally been _everywhere_ on this girl’s body, but the simple motion, the easy intertwining of their fingers, is so ridiculously intimate.

She’s distracted, though, and starts to pull them towards a box – a photo booth.

“Oh, no, no. I don’t do photo booths.”

 “Come on, please?” Rebecca asks, taking both his hands in hers and swinging her body. Doe eyes, bit lip, a few more pleases and he finally lets out a pseudo-exasperated sigh and follows her into the box.   

In the photo booth, the first one Rebecca pulls him in for a kiss. Greg’s entire chest is on fire. Them. Greg and Rebecca. On a date. At a movie. _Kissing_ in front of a camera. Not even in his wildest dreams.

“Come on, okay, this is a tribute to always shushing me!”

“I don’t always…” Rebecca puts her finger to her lips and raises his hand too. He’s having a hard time not laughing. Two copies of the pictures are dispensed and she picks them up, bringing them close to her face. She lights up with a smile.

“These are amazing! The best! Greg – look!”

Greg rolls his eyes but he has to admit. They look _happy._  

Rebecca lowers her voice a little and smiles at him, softly, fondly.

“Thanks for doing that with me. I know you don’t like… cheesy stuff like this.”

He takes Rebecca’s hand into his own.

“I don’t mind it so much when I’m with you.”

* * *

 

Greg’s digging through his father’s old Serrano’s boxes. Everything is covered with dust in this attic and Greg’s pretty sure there’s a dead bat now ten feet away from him. But, rabies aside, he’s a man with a mission.

The old man truly has no organizational acumen.

“What are you looking for?” Marco’s head pops up through the attic door. He starts to cough immediately and Greg waves him away.

Greg finally pulls the piece of paper from the folder and hits it dramatically, it exhuming a bunch of dust.

“Your old arancini recipe. We served this all the time at Serrano’s!”

Marco glowers. “Why?”

“Rebecca hasn’t tried it before so I’m gonna make it for her.”

“Huh.” Marco responds. “What, you’re tryin’ to marry this girl or something?”

Greg’s face drops _. Uh-oh._

* * *

Maybe Hector’s right. He _is_ spending too much time with Rebecca. Cooking her some kind of old family recipe? For a casual sex buddy? Ha-ha. He must be out of his fucking mind.

He’s gotta pump the brakes.

So he doesn’t say no to Hector.

And he doesn’t let his heart dropping at Rebecca’s expression when she finds out that he’s going on a ‘hot date,’ as she puts it, sway him. If anything, with her eight dates next week, he shouldn’t feel bad at all. Right? Because this will keep Rebecca from breaking his heart.

Right?


	6. Chapter 6

Walking up to Hector and the two women at the Boba Stand feels dirty. His heart is sinking lower and lower in his stomach and he isn’t sure if he’ll be able to speak. The girl, Brandy, looks nice enough. But this feels like _cheating._ Which is all the more reason for Greg to believe that, unfortunately, Hector’s right. The man is a total moron who has never had a serious girlfriend but he _does_ get laid pretty regularly for a guy that still lives with his Mom.

He’s got to keep this going. He can’t want to cook for her. He can’t want to take her out on a nice date, or take a stroll with her in a park. He can’t want to hold her hand. Those thoughts can’t make him feel butterflies. Just can’t. So he’ll do what Hector recommends. _Keep it going. That way she can’t burn you again_.

 _Brring_. He looks at his phone.

Rebecca Bunch (8:43pm): in hospital. 

He looks at Hector and Angie and Brandy and almost laughs at himself. How is he going to delude himself into not feeling the way he’s feeling? He apologizes immediately and sprints to his car.

Greg Serrano (8:45pm): Are you okay? Which hospital?

Greg Serrano (8:46pm): I’ll be right there

* * *

 

“Its Greg? Its Greg? You’re sleeping with GREG?” Rebecca startles awake at the sound of Paula’s voice, shrill. Looking at her from the hospital bed are Paula, furious, Josh Chan (?) confused, and Greg. Greg Serrano.

“Wow. So Paula was pretty pissed when she walked out of here.”

“Yeah… I don’t – I don’t know what her problem is.”

He looks down at her in adoration and moves a stand of hair out of her face, tracing the outline with his thumb. After all, it is kind of on him for her being here. His… never-ending eagerness with her _did_ contribute to this UTI.

“Feeling better, Bunch?”

“Yeah…” Greg takes her hand and smiles down at her with an insurmountable degree of kindness.  

“I’m sorry I ruined your hot date,” Rebecca says. Greg squeezes her hand and smiles sadly.

“No, I left at soon as you texted me.  Actually, I never wanted to be there to begin with. I should have said that right off the bat.”

“Yeah,” she laughs. You should have.”

She’s very cute when she admits all eight of her dates were fake. She’s very cute as she looks up to him, and as she holds his hand. She’s very cute that he’s the first person she texted. God. _Greg, keep it together man._

Paula bursts in to the room and tells him to get out and he’s irked, sure. But he leaves the room. Its time to get Rebecca something from the gift shop. He’s done being a dick. He’s done listening to _Hector._

But Josh Chan, being in this hospital, bringing Rebecca flowers? That is bringing up a whole new slew of emotions. Greg’s full on the defensive. 

“I know that you two had a kind of… momentary tongue connection, but Rebecca isn’t into you anymore. She’s with me now.” He gestures to himself, almost surprised. Admitting it for the first time out loud.  “So maybe you should take those flowers and take them back to your girlfriend who you haven’t been able to commit to for 15 years.”

Josh Chan looks bitter. And upset. And confused. “…Okay, but get used to me being her friend, because Rebecca and me are close. There’s nothing you can do about that. She and I have a history and whether you’re with her or not, we’re connected.”

“Oh, uhuh. Doesn’t bother me. And I don’t care. And it doesn’t bother me. Also a weird thing to say. And it doesn’t bother me. Also, circling back, you have a girlfriend. Say hi to your very patient girlfriend!”

They’re connected? _They’re connected._ That’s a weird thing to say. It doesn’t bother Greg. It definitely doesn’t bother Greg. It _definitely_ doesn’t bother Greg.

He finds himself defending the balloon option, and all of a sudden he’s insecurely spiraling. Maybe she prefers flowers? Maybe she always preferred flowers? Maybe the only reason that she chose stick balloon in the first place was because there were no more flowers. And as soon there are more flowers, Rebecca is gonna let stick balloon fly into the air and disappear forever. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Greg’s thoughts are racing and anxiety is rising to the brim of his throat. _What is he doing?_

“What – ahh. You’re the one that’s all over the place. I – gotta jet. I’ll text you later.”

Greg makes a mental note to never say gotta jet ever again. Ever.

* * *

“Why did you freak out and leave?”

“Because I’m an idiot. And because I realize that I’m the guy she settles for, while Josh is the one she really wants.” Greg places his head in his hands and squeezes lightly.

“I can’t care this much,” he says, resigned. “Caring is very unattractive on me. Every time I force myself to not care, she likes me all of a sudden. Maybe what I have to do is… just be an uncaring _bad boy.”_

Marco takes a sip of his beer and puts out his cigarette.

“You’re an idiot. This is fear talking. You’re just afraid she’s gonna hurt you again.”

* * *

Heather walks through their shared apartment gate.

“You gotta understand that a text that says ‘u up?’ usually means ‘are you up for sex?’”

Rebecca motions for Heather to sit down on the lounger to her right.

“Heather – I’m feeling super in secure about Greg… Yeah. He was acting so sweet – for a while, now, and then in the hospital he started acting super weird again.”

Heather nods, “Its _Greg_. He gets super freaked about stuff. He had a whole spiral cause I told him I wasn’t seeing other people. But I, of all people, know he digs you. If you like him, you should tell him. Be like, dude, I got the feels.” Heather squints her eyes and Rebecca, in her bathrobe, nods like a mad-woman. Yes. She should be taking notes.

“But,” Heather adds, “Be chill about it.”

* * *

Greg’s pep talks to himself is, “Just remember, I don’t care.”

He leans away when she comes in to the door as she’s coming in for the kiss. That’s definitely uncaring. He suggests the monster truck rally, even though he hates monster truck rallies, that’s definitely uncaring. He lets one rip, because he definitely doesn’t care. And when she takes out that wedding invite and he feels his heart speed up at the though of him, and her, together, on a date, around all their friends, drinking champagne and laughing, he pushes the feeling down. Because he’s an uncaring _bad boy._

* * *

Rebecca’s pep talk to herself is, “Just remember, be chill.” She shrugs when she comes in, bringing a six-pack of beer over before noon, because that’s a chill thing to do. She pretends that she hasn’t watched The Way We Were a million times and that she wouldn’t kill to watch a rom-com snuggled on Greg’s chest, because that’s a chill thing to do. The southern accent? What a chill thing to do! She jokes about farting, of course, because she’s hella, super chill. But she find’s Jayma’s invitation to her wedding on the coffee table and, honestly, Heather gives bad advice. They can have a moment. In Rebecca’s opinion, they _should_ have a moment. And she’s gonna make it happen.

* * *

Josh Chan is going to propose to Valencia. Huh.

If Josh proposes… that dream is gone. This shouldn’t feel bad for her, right? She shouldn’t be having doubts about Greg just because he’s being weird and not kissing her and acting like he’s embarrassed to be with her… right?

Never mind all that. Rebecca knows that as soon as she tells him that, yes, she digs him, and yes, she’d love it if they weren’t casual anymore and that they can start their life together, he’ll stop acting so weird.

* * *

_Remember, you don’t care._ This is what people that are cool bad boys do, right? They don’t try but somehow that’s still very sexy? Greg knows that when he does try with Rebecca, which has been too many times, she does not find that sexy.

Greg knows this night is going to go badly. Feels the tingle of it on the back of his spine as she walks down the staircase, radiant, bouncing, hopeful. He lets his eyes capture her like this before he carefully slouches his body, flattens his expression and feels the sudden change in her posture as she sees his face.

_Perfect._

* * *

Here’s the deal. She can’t just come in to his life, make him feel stuff, and then leave him. No, no. If he can adequately ruin tonight, which he’s definitely on the road to doing, not only will she never have the opportunity to break his heart again, but, if he plays this right, he’ll leave a good opportunity for her. And for Chan. To be happy. Hell, Greg thinks, as he picks up the shots at the bar, letting her disappointed gaze follow him across the floor of this gaudy ass wedding, she was the one that told him not to waste his time on her. Jokes on you, Greg muses. _You aren’t_ gonna waste your time on _me._

Despite this plan sounding perfectly reasonable in Greg’s head, standing next to her, feeling her excitement and actively trying to antagonize it hasn’t necessarily pent out well. Seeing her disappointment with each misstep is agonizing. Straight up. But luckily, alcohol works quite well for that shitty feeling.

Greg isn’t blind. The annoying inkling has been tickling the back of his brain since Josh Chan ranted about him and Rebecca being connected back at the hospital was not a little inkling at all. Josh Chan can’t keep his eyes off Rebecca. He keeps coming to talk to Rebecca. And Greg can see how he’s affecting her – she looks so pained, and dream-like, looking at Josh Chan. Josh Chan affects her. Josh Chan is connected to her. Rebecca loves Josh Chan. Stick balloon isn’t just about to give up. Oh, he’s gonna pop.

* * *

Greg's getting plastered. He's hunched over, oversized sport jacket over a flannel button up and dirty old converse, looking like he's a patron at a shitty old bar rather than this lavish wedding.  _He’s a booze hound, he’s completely shut down, and he’s angry._ Paula’s words ring through Rebecca’s head again and she forces them aside. This isn’t who he is. This isn’t who _they_ are. Something is wrong.

"Hey - hey. I want to talk to you." Greg glances in her direction, holding the glass of whiskey by the tips of his fingers.

"So... tonight's gotten pretty off track. Like... this isn't us. This isn't how we are. And I think its my fault. Yeah. Because I had an artificial view of the way I wanted this night to go."

"No," Greg wags his fingers, slurring his words slightly, "Its my fault. Its my fault its my fault. I should not have worn sneakers tonight. Justin Timberlake wore sneakers with a suit and I thought it was cool but - but I'm no JTimbo." 

Rebecca snorts out a laugh, the tension between them temporarily eased. 

"You're hilariously wasted."

"I know," Greg started solemnly, "What you want to say to me. You want to break up with me." 

Rebecca waits for the punchline of this joke.  

"No Greg, no..." She starts, wringing her hands in her lap. She bites her lip and stares at him, moving her body in his direction, not making contact. "I care about you. A lot."

He smiles that half smile, the concerned smile where he wrinkles his forehead. His smile quickly fades and his eyes drift to somewhere behind Rebecca, but she keeps her eyes on him, waiting. 

"I don't care how you tell me Greg, just, please... tell me." Rebecca waits, eyes wide, heart on her sleeve. 

Greg is silent for too long. 

* * *

He’s always second place with her. 

That’s what made him love her in the first place, right? She treated him like a second rate citizen, she used him to get to his friend, she hurt him over and over and over again and here she is. In front of him. Expecting some kind of answer. He knows it, he just doesn’t _know_ it.

What he does know is Josh has been watching them all evening. Josh insists on being in the hospital when Rebecca was sick, bringing her flowers. Josh's face in all those photographs that Rebecca took. That kiss in the court room, that was not nothing. He saw the way Rebecca gripped at him, desperately, lovingly. Josh being what would keep her in West Covina. It was always Josh for her. Its always been Josh. 

 _You're pretty and you're smart and you're ignoring me, so you're obviously my type._ Rebecca, that breath of fresh air, the change, the massive, destructive, earthquake of a woman had to come in and change everything.

Greg was used to it. Used to being angry. Used to his dead-end job. Used to his dad, smoking and drinking himself into an early grave. Used to the classic crew – Chan getting every girl, Hector oversleeping and living with his mom, WhiJo and his annoying-ass protein powders. Used to drinking when he was happy, drinking when he was sad, drinking at each birthday, funeral, to unwind and to party. To sleep and to forget.

She’s looking at him like he has answers but those earnest eyes and quivering lips, that was never for him. This place, this person, none of this was for him.  He can tip the scales and stop waiting for the inevitability of her leaving and choosing Chan. He can make that choice, right now, before he loses more of himself in her. Before she becomes the first woman he’s even said those words to.  

“I think you’re cool.”

Her eyes widen and he lays his head down, pretending to be too drunk to continue the conversation. He knows exactly what she’s thinking. Can’t be any worse than what he’s thinking about himself. So he puts his head in his arms, acts asleep, and lets the two burning tears, more whiskey than water at this point, soak into his plaid shirt. 

After all, he’s Greg. He ruins things.

That’s who he is.


	7. Chapter 7

You know what they always say - when you're having trouble getting over someone, get under them.

Maybe breaking off a fifteen-year relationship and a three-week relationship that same night and starting to sleep together wasn't necessarily the smart move. 

But who the hell cares?! This is Josh. He is synonymous with happy.  _He_ is going to fix all of her problems. She got a little distracted, sure, took a little detour. But now she’s back on the highway, wind in her hair, listening to Backstreet Boys and back in Josh’s embrace. As it should be.

She falls into this feeling readily, quickly. Might as well have shot up some heroin. She wasn’t going to think with her brain _or_ her heart. Not this moment. This masterpiece – all pussy brain.

And if her pussy brain accidentally finds itself disappointed that Josh, although quite talented, doesn’t kiss her neck the same way that Greg does, doesn’t grip her thighs the way he does, doesn’t go down on her like, at all, the way Greg does… well, that’s just a transition period. Of course, that’s not Josh’s fault, per se, she thinks. There’s only so much maneuvering you can get in a classic car in an outdoor setting.

They’ll – they’ll keep working on it. They have the rest of their lives to work on it.

As soon as they get past the whole ‘Moved here for you’ thing.

As soon as Rebecca can stop checking her phone, waiting for Greg to get home, wake up, and fucking do something to keep this from getting out of control.

* * *

Rebecca Bunch (10:03 am) – hey, are you okay? Can we talk?

Read: 11:45am

Rebecca Bunch (1:03pm) – hey, I’m getting worried. Are you okay?

Read: 1:23pm

Greg Serrano (1:43pm) – Hey Bunch. Sorry about Jayma’s wedding. I ducked up. This morning, I found out my mom had some bad plastic surgery so I gotta go to L.A. for a few weeks and help her take care of the kids. See you when I get back.

Rebecca Bunch (1:47pm) – What are you talking about? There’s cell phone towers in L.A.

Rebecca Bunch (1:52pm) – are you serious? What are you doing?

Rebecca Bunch (2:15pm) – please, can we talk?

Rebecca Bunch (7:35pm) – let me know when you get back to town

At the very least, every time Rebecca checks her phone and sees that the read receipts show up within minutes of her sending the texts, she angrily grips Josh by the hand, leads him back into the bedroom, and has some of the best sex of her life.

* * *

Rebecca shrugs her shoulders, looking Paula dead in the eye, popping another chip with plain hummus in her mouth sitting at Paula’s cubicle. Sure, Josh was maybe not being super forthcoming with his love. But, hey, there’s plenty of kernels. Love kernels, if you will.

"I'll take it,” she states.

"That’s not how love works, cookie. You don't just build up little by little until its ‘enough love.’ And he won’t even spend the night in your bed? That’s insane.” Paula chimes in.

"Pfft. What do you know about love?" Rebecca retorts defensively. She continues, almost rambling. "Really, Paula, we're just a more _contemporary_ love story,” Paula looks like she wants to interject, but Rebecca wags her finger, and says, “bup bup bip -  thats _right_ , because its kind of a comment about the woman's right to express and use her body without some kind of ownership agreement..."

"I'm not talking marriage, cookie. I'm talking love. Affection. You know, a relationship... Like you had with - " Paula tries to interrupt.

"BUT here's the thing!" Rebecca leans forward, cutting Paula off, eyes wide.

“Here's the thing, Paula! What I'm doing for Josh - and jeez, its really what _he’s_ doing for _me_ , am I right? - its like, spitting in the face of rom-coms, you know? Its the 21st century! Can't I just want to please my man and ask for nothing in return, as a choice?"

 “Cookie – you have to know I can see straight through what you’re doing right now. I know you're acting like you don't care, but you do! Why won’t you talk about Greg? Why are you pretending what happened never happened?”

“Paula – look. Forget about Greg. Forget about him! I told you –I’m over it! We had a bad date. He passed out drunk. And then he completely stopped talking to me. Look – listen,” Rebecca hurriedly pulls her cell phone out of her pocket, and Paula rolls her eyes.

“Again with this? Rebecca, you read me that text like a million times! A million times! Its not going to change its meaning the millionth time!" 

"I'm just – I don’t know! Its super weird, right? Like – being in L.A. doesn’t preclude someone from texting someone, right? But – but clearly. Clearly. Its been a month. I’ve texted him. He doesn’t care. I’m out of his life. And its over! And I don’t care.”

"You don’t care?” Paula raises her eyebrows. “Because when you were going to the wedding, you were in _love_ with him." 

"I - what? I don't think I was in love with him. No. No no."

“Rebecca, come on. You’re not this dumb. You went to Harvard.” Paula narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.  

“Besides,” Rebecca adds, keeping her eyes trained on the floor, “He very clearly said ‘lets not plan out our futures together.’ It was just like, a casual thing. Which is over because _now_ I’m with the love of my life! Josh Chan!”

Paula leans over closely, concern in her face, voice sincere. "Look, cookie – I truly thought you and Josh were a great romance, the greatest love story ever told, but... maybe I was wrong."

Rebecca practically jumps out of her chair, eyes wide and manic. Her voice raises up a few octaves as she basically yells, “How can you say that?? He loves me. He LOVES me. He made a massive commitment to me, putting stuff in that drawer. That’s, like, the next step before marriage!”

Paula rolls her eyes. “As I recall, another person was also leaving stuff in your drawer. Like a sweatshirt. _And_ sleeping in your bed every night. And I mean, literally, every night.”

Rebecca finds herself tearful, but she shakes her head, closes her eyes tight and just shrugs.

"That was something… entirely different." 

Its strange, hearing Paula waver on the Josh thing. Paula has _never_ wavered on the Josh thing. Even when Rebecca waivered… Paula was always so sure. And she's done so much, maybe even too much, to get Rebecca to this step. One year ago, Josh Chan hadn’t seen her in ten years, had a serious live in girlfriend, and a job that he hated. Now she’s sucking Chan off on the daily. So, really, this whole respeffing situation wouldn’t be possible without Paula. If she's not in it 100% anymore, then... 

Rebecca shoves the thought out of her head and moves forward, head held high. A melody plays in her head, familiar, something she's head at Home Base in the past, something about Josh being a fantasy.

Never mind that. 

It was perfect. It was all perfect. It _has_ to be perfect. The camp letter.  The ‘I feel you with me.’ The sex on a vintage car. There was no fairytale, or rom-com, or anything that Rebecca can think of that’s _more_ romantic. And sure, she thought she’d feel a little bit more like a beautiful princess, or Kate Hudson, or something. Rather than feeling this… hole in her heart.

Nope. Josh loves her. That hole in her heart is there for Josh’s love, and she just needs to know she has it. And then she’ll feel complete. And then she won’t be sad anymore. And then she will definitely not miss Greg.  Josh is it. Cut. End scene. Done.

Rebecca bangs her head against her desk, sprawling her arms out. 

Why won’t he tell her he loves her? What is holding him back?

Can’t be Valencia. Valencia dumped _him._ And Greg? How many times does she have to go over this? She told him she likes him. He told her that he’s just having fun. He passed out. And stopped speaking to her. He’s ghosting her. Rebecca thought that maybe Greg would dump her in a bit of a more mature way. After everything they’ve been through. Like… this is just. So cold. But Rebecca doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. The message is loud and clear. Rebecca shakes her head, blinks her eyes hard, and slaps the table with her palms. Regroup.

_Okay, Becks. Stop being such a stupid bitch. Focus._

Josh.

This is on her, really, Rebecca muses, taking out her office desk vodka and pouring it into a now dedicated container, sloshing it around. She got distracted. She let some weird sarcastic bartender veer her off course. Rebecca shoots the vodka and lets it glide into the back of her throat. The bitter taste saturates her mouth, but she swallows, shakes her head and slams the mug onto her desk. She looks around quickly, and seeing that no one is watching her, hides the vodka and cup back into her drawer.

Back to business. No more distractions. This is all about _Josh_.

* * *

“Okay, Paula. New plan,” Rebecca starts out of the gate, power walking to Paula’s cubicle. She looks like she didn’t property dress herself, one button on her blouse mis-buttoned and like she hasn’t showered in a day or two.

“We need to find Greg. We need to prove he’s not a falcon. We need to see that he’s fine, and then tell him about Josh, and he’ll be super psyched, and then we can all move on with our lives. Yes. Okay. Where’s that…that tracking device?” Rebecca is tapping the side of Paula’s cubicle impatiently and Paula looks around.

“Am I on a prank show? Falcon? What are you talking about?”

“Paula,” Rebecca starts, eyes wide. “We need to find Greg.” She stares at her friend with Bambi eyes and Paula, reluctantly, complies.

“Please, Mama. I need this.”

* * *

Day 26.

Another serenity prayer. Another day going through the steps. Another day of hearing ridiculous, horrible, rock bottom stories. His is probably the tamest one of the bunch. Greg is finding that he doesn’t want to blow his brains out as much as he did in the beginning. Which, he figures, is a step in the right direction.

He’s mostly just been listening over the past few weeks. Sitting in the back, not participating. It took him at least two weeks to finally be able to say the introduction. Hi, I’m Greg. And I’m an alcoholic.

Today he stands up. Its time to tell the story and – something feels right about today. His heartache is just a mild buzzing in the back of his head. The headaches from the lack of alcohol have completely disappeared. This is the next step. And then he can… he can take this story and tell everyone else. Its been a month. Its time.

And he tells the story. Knows it by heart. Thought about it, over and over and over and over. Ten drinks at Jayma and Phillips wedding. The Uber ride with WhiJo where they were kicked out a few blocks away from his dad’s house because he had to vomit out the window. Waking up, bleary eyed, on his home couch and filling up the trashcan next to his head. The sound of the sirens and his own incredulousness when he blows a 0.19. Sitting behind bars, not sure if he was more embarrassed or heartbroken. Getting his license taken from him. Having to have his dad drive him here, every day, for the past 26 days. Jesus.

He scoots down in his chair and covers his eyes.

* * *

 

Greg Serrano is an alcoholic.

Huh. Rebecca lets the thought roll around her head a few times. Greg Serrano is an alcoholic. Wow. So he’s been gone for this month, not as his mom’s house, but… in recovery. He wasn’t ghosting her for no reason.

Rebecca’s heart does a little jump in her chest but she pushes it down. _Don’t get distracted. Josh. I love Josh._

“Until we make things okay with Greg, I do not think we should interact in a romantic way,” she stipulates to Josh when he comes over to find his special moisture wicking socks.

They’re in bed again within minutes.

* * *

 

He’s feeling his feelings.

Yada yada.

Things are going great. Yes, everything is great for ol’ Gregorino. He’s going to bring the donuts for the next meeting. He’s going to get back to work. He’s going to get back to living life. Whatever that means for him. And he’s gonna… tell people. Starting with WhiJo and Hector and Josh. They deserve that much.

Greg will say this much - its good to see Chan. It’s kind of nice, how upset Josh was when he found out that he’s an alcoholic. Greg figures, there’s something to them being friends since kindergarten. A sort of lifelong knowledge and connection that transcends other types of bonds and truly links people, through their ups and their downs. He sees Josh Chan sitting at another table with Father Brah drinking their Boba, and tells himself he’ll walk right over and chat with them. After he apologizes to Heather about the fries.

“Hmm, I will take your fries apology and apply it to other things.” Greg tilts his head and squints his eyes at Heather. What could she be talking about?

Josh walks over to them before the conversation is even over.

Greg starts, “Hey, I heard about you and Valencia. That’s rough, buddy. Where are you staying?”

Josh looks like a deer in the headlights.

“Where—where am I staying? Where do I… reside?”

Heather adds, “Where do you hang your hat?”

“Hey – I know you’re wigged out about the whole alcoholic thing,” Greg starts. “Thank you. I think its kind of nice.”

A silence sits between them for a solid 10 seconds before Josh yells, for the entire Boba stand to hear.

“I SLEPT WITH REBECCA.”

 _Wow. What?_ Greg’s chest tightens up instantaneously and he feels like he’s going to vomit. He swallows down the feeling and combats it with his logic. He’s not an angry guy now. He’s in recovery. He knew something was going on between them. Hell, he even partially _engineered_ that situation. So, kudos to himself.

“You slept with Rebecca that night.” Greg nods with acceptance. “That makes sense. I was being a drunk jerk and abandoned her. I can’t blame you guys. I have to take responsibility…”

“Wait – “ Josh interrupts and Greg feels the anger boil again, unexpectedly in his stomach. He takes a deep breath. “Before you forgive me, you should know it wasn’t just the one time.”

_More then once._

 “It was a bunch of times. And I’m sort of staying with her.” Josh is rambling but the dark cloud is already shooting thunder and lightning in Greg’s head and he – he needs to go for a walk. Go back to work. Do something. But. Not here. Not that he’s upset or anything. He’s not angry anymore, he reminds himself. He’s in recovery.

“Lets just put this behind us,” he says to Josh with a soft smile, “Okay?”

Huh. His best friend was sleeping with his, he assumes, now ex-girlfriend behind his back. What, was this literally hours after he was gonna tell her that he loves her, and that he wants to be with her? After… after everything they’ve been through? She just… she just sleeps with his best friend?

Great. This is exactly what he thought was going to happen. Rebecca never gave a fuck about him. He was a placeholder for Chan. And now that she’s with him, he bets he’s just one big joke to her. And to him.

Look how happy everyone turned out to be when he disappeared for a month. He can only imagine how much happier people would be if he disappeared forever.

He doesn’t realize that he’s punched through the wall before he does it.

* * *

 

Rebecca stops cold in her tracks. What are they talking about? Why do they look so concerned?

“What’s wrong?” Rebecca asks, holding the ping-pong paddle in her hands a little tighter than she was a second ago.

“Greg is supposed to be here. He’s late. And the guys are worried he’s drinking again because… he’s an alcoholic.” Rebecca tries to look surprised, though the rapidity of her heart and the flaring of her nostrils are hard to hide.

“What makes you think he’s drinking again?” Rebecca finds her brain foggy. Josh Chan is swimming in front of her eyes.

He almost looks apologetic. "I told him the truth, about you and me..."

"You did _what_?" Rebecca is surprised about the sharpness of her tone and Josh retreats a little, looking wounded.  

“Ok… um. How did he take it?” He probably didn’t even care. He disappeared for a month. One text message.

“Clearly not great, cause he disappeared,” Hector volunteers, cradling his wine glass. White Josh grits his teeth and rolls his eyes at Rebecca and Josh.

“Good job you horny monsters! Oh did that sound judgy?” He leans forward, “GOOD.”

Hector, Josh and WhiJo talk between the three of them about Greg saying he’s fine, like, ten times. But Rebecca knows him. She _knows_ him. And this horrible, devastating, sinking feeling in her stomach won’t stop until she finds him.

 “I can’t – I can’t stay here. I have to look for him.” Rebecca grabs her bag and sprints out the door. She has to go find Paula. She has to find Greg.

God, she has to be the one to find him.

* * *

 

When she does find him, he’s not at a bar, or at home, or in a liquor store, or dead in a ditch.

He’s at a duck pond. The one with the fountain on East Cameron. The moon is full, casting an almost eerie glimmer on the water. He’s not moving.

Rebecca sighs in relief seeing him there, alone, elbows on his knees, pink box at his feet. _Jesus, Greg. Its been a month._ Rebecca tries to swat away the aching in her own heart and makes her way over to the bench. She sits a foot or so away, looking in the opposite direction. He looks at her, seemingly surprised to have someone join him, before his eyes focus in on her face and she can feel his body become rigid. She can’t look at him. Can’t look at his face. Can’t look in his eyes. She just… _can’t._ She wipes her hands against her shorts, suddenly clammy.

 “What are you doing here?” Greg whispers. His tone, so soft, confused, hits Rebecca like a bullet to the head _. This is Greg. This is him._

"Everyone was looking for you...” Rebecca starts, taking in a deep breath, looking upward. She’s not gonna get teary-eyed. Not here. Not right now.

“Not me. I wasn't looking for you. I just like ducks." 

He only nods.

"Look, I know you know about me and Josh..." She shuts her eyes, grits her teeth. Grips a little harder onto the bottom of the bench until the edges hurt her palms. "I'm sorry you found out the way you did... um..." She pauses again. She's been waiting to say this, rehearsed so many iterations of this for when she saw him again. _If_ she saw him again. "You disappeared for a month."  

He flips himself around, scooting slightly closer to her.

“I was… embarrassed.”

Greg is close now, closer to her than he’s been in over a month. She can feel his body heat radiating. She looks at his face, now, so familiar and, for that brief second, the impulse to touch him, to hold him, is overwhelming. He looks different somehow. Tired. His eyes are pointed at the ground but the dark circles she’s come to know so well aren’t as dark anymore. At least there’s that. 

“I’m sure you heard,” he says, and they meet eyes for the first time. His are glossy, too, and he doesn’t meet hers for longer than a second. “DUI, alcoholic, blah, blah blah.”

Rebecca nods. “I heard, yeah. I’m-I’m sorry.”

He flashes her a sad smile, words coming out earnest. “I really have been doing a lot better.” He pauses. “But then I heard about you and Chan…”

Rebecca looks up and takes a deep breath. Why does he sound so… so resigned? But he didn’t drink. Thank goodness he didn’t drink.

“The night of the wedding, you completely broke my heart,” she starts, voice cracking. “But that’s no excuse… to be sleeping with your best friend. I am… I am so sorry.”

“I don’t need an apology from you,” he says. “I picked you because you _weren’t_ interested in me.”

“That’s funny, because by the end of the wedding, you weren’t interested in me.”

“The funny thing is – not ha-ha funny, sad funny – the reason I got a DUI – was because I was driving over to your place.” Greg pauses. “To tell you that I loved you.”

Rebecca breathes out, heavy. _Loved. Loved._

Greg doesn’t miss a beat, not letting the words sit between them too long. “I waited too long, and I missed my shot.”

She doesn’t move to him. She wants to, her fingertips burning, wanting to reach out, but she knows she can’t. She gave up that right. She gave _him_ up when he needed her most. _Jesus Christ, Rebecca. How did this happen?_

"You're happy, right?"

She has to be, right? The only way what she did to Greg to every be okay is if she’s happy. It has to be true love for it to be okay. So she lies to him. She has to.

Rebecca isn’t sure how they moved so close to each other. But her knee touches his and the easy, familiar action makes her want to be a little daring. Just a few weeks ago, she was holding his hand. She was kissing him along that jaw, on those pouty lips. They were laughing together. If she can stay in this moment, her knee against his, this beautiful, comfortable silence between them. Just for a minute. Maybe she can move a little closer. Maybe she can smell his aftershave, something so distinctly him and she can be back there. Just a few weeks ago. _How did everything go so wrong?_

“Rebecca, I need a ride back to Torrance.” Rebecca snaps out of her haze, moving instinctively away from Greg. “Greg, this is –uh Xiao. We’re wearing matching outfits.”

“I don’t wanna know,” Greg says, a smile on his face.

* * *

_“You’re happy, right?”_

Standing in her apartment, she feels like she’s floating through space. Josh, on the couch playing Xbox, might as well be a trillion miles away. He doesn’t look at her, instead sipping his beer intermittently.

“So he wasn’t getting drunk? He was just sitting there, on a bench, with a box of donuts?” Josh scoffs.

“Yeah. He was fine. He was great, actually.” Greg’s soft voice. His eyes. The word ‘love’ rolling off his tongue. His aftershave.

Happy. _Happy._ Was she… happy?

"I deserve to be with someone who treats me well!" Rebecca almost wanted to pull the words back into her mouth as she says them - she's ruining it, the dream, the love story.  _You stupid bitch._

Josh looks at her, incredulous. The same look he gave her the night she asked him to leave her house and when she went to see Greg. Its like he never expects her to stand up to him. But Rebecca means it. She deserves someone who treats her well.

She goes upstairs and opens the top drawer of her dresser. She carefully re-folded his sweatshirt and put it in its rightful place after Josh freaked out about it. She’s not going to let this sweatshirt go – how silly. _Emory._ She picks it up, gentle, and brings the gray material to her nose, feeling tears start to well. He was _right there._ Calm, collected, evolved. And she couldn’t reach him, couldn’t touch him like he was sitting in this dense fog.

And the moments, here in the same bedroom, falling asleep together after crazy tantric sex, him cooking her dinner with a smile on his face, falling in - in something -, with silly, sarcastic, not-so-angry anymore Greg...

She falls back on her bed, sweatshirt clutched tight in her hands, and let herself cry for the first time since that man broke her heart.

* * *

Here’s the thing about signs.

They’re great.

Well. Some of them. Signs 2 and 3? She hasn’t even seen those signs. And sequels are generally pretty terrible. But. She’s getting off track. What she means is, signs, universal, destiny signs, those are pretty great.

When Rebecca started following signs, they lead her to West Covina. And she’s had one of the best years of her life here.

Her mind is racing and she’s filled to the brim with energy, impulse after impulse after universal sign after universal sign. The logical Rebecca is screaming, somewhere, in the back of her brain.

Yes. The sign is that she’s pregnant with Josh’s baby. Josh is the one. Greg isn’t the one. Its not even a choice she should choose! So obvious.

Okay. Maybe she’s not pregnant. And Josh told her they’re not a couple. Maybe that’s not the sign.

Maybe the sign is a tall man with short black hair standing in front of a scenic bridge.

Of course. Its Greg. Its always been Greg.

This is going to make her know who she is. Yes. This is the identity she must have. Greg.

* * *

Greg walks along the bridge, kicking stones with his new shoes. People are jogging around him and families are enjoying picnics. He’s lived here his whole life and never been to this place. Heritage Bridge.

 _What do sober people… do?_ Greg muses, staring out ahead of him, watching the people around him. He could take up jogging. That’s a hobby.

But that was not important right now. Marco just handed him everything he could have ever wanted – Greg from last season, that meaning winter, would have done anything, grasped at this opportunity and left immediately.

He’s got _two hundred and fifty thousand dollars_ in his bank account and a pit in the bottom of his stomach.

Guardrail wouldn’t tell him what to do. Marco, well, he’s no help. All he knows is that the book definitely goes against making big changes. And getting away from this town, its his _dream._

He wishes there could be some kind of sign.

“Greg?”

Greg bolts around at the familiar voice, eyes wide.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. She looks harrowed and tired, but she’s smiling as she’s looking at him. He smiles back, unconsciously.

“Rebecca?” he turns fully, keeping one hand on the bridge. “This is weird,”

She quips, “Yeah” softly and bites her lip, moving from one foot from the other.

“I – uh. Just needed a walk. How did you end up here?”

She scrunches her nose and looks around.

“I – also needed a walk.”

“Crazy that we both end up here at the exact same time,” Greg smiles as he says it, bonking himself on the head mentally all the while, eyes darting away from Rebecca’s momentarily to meet the ground, “What are the chances of that happening?” _Rebecca is always so sure of everything. Of fate or destiny or whatever. Please. Tell me an answer._ Greg implores internally.

“I don’t know,” she says brightly, “I think this might be just a coincidence. Why didn’t we come to places like this more, when we were together?”

“Cause we hated the outdoors? And each other, most of the time?”

“Right, right right. The two pillars of any great relationship.”

“Yeah, we were _great._ ” Greg says sarcastically, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. _Weren’t they, though?_

Rebecca giggles.

The silence sits between them, heavy, as their laughter dissipates. A foot between them and Greg feels like it might as well be the Grand Canyon.

 “I’ve missed you,” she adds on.

“Yeah.” Greg responds. “Me too. This was a great, fateless, coincidental meeting on a scenic bridge.”

She’s smiling at him and he’s smiling at her. She points her fingers to the side, implying that she’s going to start walking away, but she takes too long to turn and in that moment, decisions aside, Greg grabs Rebecca by the shoulders, scoops her face in his hands and kisses her. Really kisses her. And its her from two months ago, sweet, imploring, pressed up against him like they never left each other’s side.

And after the break, he knows. The decision is already fully formed before she starts to talk, suddenly fast paced and frantic.

“Hear me out, you have very reason to say no,” Greg shakes his head before she’s even finished, knowing exactly where it’s going. He’s almost terrified with the accuracy of his prediction. _Something must have happened with Josh Chan. Then she comes to him. Because that’s what he does._ “Can we try this again? Please?”

It would be the easiest thing in the world. Fall back into Rebecca’s world, into her bed. To listen to her sing badly in the shower. To let her energy infect him, make him temporarily feel alive… But what then? He stays in Home Base? He waits for her to get bored and go to Chan _again_? And then everything’s the same _and_ he has to be sober for it? And that’s supposed to be enough? No. No.

He hates that Marco is right. Hates that he’s such a sucker for her. Hates that he loves her this much. She might as well be a bottle of booze – but this temporary high, where can it lead but more pain?  

She’s poison for him. He’s poison for her.

The danger sign should have been there when Rebecca first walked into Home Base a year ago.

* * *

He stops by anyway. To see her. To remember her.

He stays behind the trees, enough to stay away from her wandering gaze. The sun is setting and she’s radiant. She even looks sincerely excited, looking from side to side. _Waiting for him._ A pang of guilt makes its way into his stomach and he lets it sit there, acidic and burning. A part of him wants to come out from the shadow, take her by the hand, and take her to that Olive Garden. A big part. Most of him, he realizes.

Eventually she will forgive him for this.

Eventually, Rebecca will be truly happy. He knows it.

* * *

Snapchat alert. Greg’s at the airport.

Wait.  
Greg’s at the airport?

Rebecca springs out of her apartment and drives as fast as she possibly can to Burbank.

“Greg, Greg, hold on! Where are you going?”

He looks resigned. Confident. “To Emory,” he punctuates the last word with a sincere smile, “Finally.”

“Greg, we were gonna start over. Me seeing you on that bridge, It was a sign…”

“I want to believe that. I do. But that’s not how life works, Rebecca. There are no signs. Life doesn’t happen to you. You make decisions. And I’m deciding to move forward with my life.”

“But you can’t deny… our feelings for each other.”

“You and I… have had some great moments together. Some of the best of my life. But between that it got confusing, and hard. And bad. For both of us.”

“So you were just gonna leave, without saying goodbye to me?”

“I couldn’t say goodbye. If I did, I’d never leave.”

“But that means you love me!”

“Rebecca, of course I love you.”

* * *

Greg sits down and wrings his hands. It would be so easy. _Just get up. She’s probably still there, at the bottom of that escalator._ He combs a hand through his hair and shakes his head again. He rubs his eyes, suddenly exhausted. It’s the most he could do to stave off the burning and pressure he starts to feel. His heart starts to slow down and the jittery energy dissipates over minutes while Greg breathes deeply. _Mindfulness._ Guardrail lent a decent amount of literature from some Vietnamese Monk, and Greg burrows into his bag to find something to distract him for a while. He pulls out a book with an orange cover.

Titled _True Love._

 _Are you fucking kidding me._ Greg tosses the book straight back into his bag and starts to play with his phone. Hurriedly he finds an AirBnB to stay in for the next week, shoots a quick text to Barry who agreed to meet him for coffee next week. Greg eyes the airport bar, where hoards of people are housing down cocktails at 11 in the morning.

 _What happens next?_ Greg replays those words in his head, the same words that he confidently told Rebecca just a few moments ago. This isn’t _him._ He doesn’t _do_ big, grandiose, impulsive things. That’s Rebecca. Her moving across the country. Her bursting into Home Base as he’s closing, telling him that she’s not a dusty potato and banging his brains out for 3 days straight. Even running to the airport, somehow finding him even though he refused to tell her, told everyone _not_ to tell her…

A tightness surrounds Greg’s chest and bile rises to his throat as he thinks about her, how she must have felt after he kissed her just yesterday, putting everything he thought, felt, missed, needed into that kiss and how he, within hours, chose to leave without telling her. She might have not known for weeks. Greg chuckles, _maybe months._

If she hadn’t run into him on that bridge. If she didn’t run to find him in the airport. She’d be happy, sitting at home right now, not even thinking about him. Greg sighs, finally landing on the only comforting thought he’s had so far.

She didn’t think about him or miss him when he was gone for a month. She’ll be okay. She’s got her dream and he has his. Greg smiles to himself.

“Burbank to San Francisco! Boarding A group!” Greg hears on the intercom. He sighs, grips his bag carrying all of his belongings that he’s taking to Atlanta, and heads toward his airplane.

* * *

 

He abandoned her. He left, _and_ he called their relationship feces.

Paula is being entirely reasonable. Rebecca knows that, but she doesn’t _know_ it. Paula saying that it was ‘good for him’ and that he ‘needed to move on’ and that he’ll ‘learn some better words in school’ and that ‘they’re bad for each other?’ What kind of profound bullshit is all of that?!

Rebecca wraps herself up in her blanket, next to an open bottle of wine, in the dark.

They never did that drive in in El Hambra. But Casablanca is on Netflix and Greg never signed out of his account. And Rebecca is a glutton for punishment.

When Rick Blaine looks at Ilsa with those sad eyes, and says, ‘If you don’t get in that plane, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.’ Rebecca finds herself ready to burst in to tears.

This apartment is empty without Josh, without Greg, but loud with their memories.

She understands why Greg has to leave. Hell, if she was less selfish, she might have _encouraged_ him to leave.

What is she going to do? Spiral every time she sees tacos, or tequila, or hears mariachi music, or goes to a wedding, or goes to a duck pond, or sees a rowboat, or goes to a creek, or goes to the airport, or sees a movie, or…

_God. Keep it together Becky._

Getting rid of everything Greg (and Josh) is the only logical thing to do.

If she accidentally almost burns her entire apartment down, well, that’s on the West Covina architectural design people for making sinks not deep enough to contain a small fire meant to burn down your ex-boyfriend’s memorabilia.

But she’s not Miss Douche. She’s not Josh’s girlfriend. And she’s definitely not Greg’s girlfriend. She know, knows he’s in a better place, knows that she’s lost him forever – but can’t stop thinking about him.

As she moves out, she thinks about him again. Waltzing into her apartment with tequila and tacos. The first time they had sex in the Home Base stock room. Shushing each other in that photo booth. She can almost see Greg in her kitchen, making them coffee.

And one day, sure. She’ll be happy for him. But for now? She needs to let him go.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 2: A Diagnosis**

_Fake it till you make it, that’s how I got by. And when I tried to find the reason for my sadness and terror, all the solutions were trial and error. Take this pill, say this chant, move here for this guy._

Atlanta lies outside the wall of windows - magnificent, all encompassing, bustling. And there he is. His apartment is a 1920s Southern plantation-like house converted into lofts and he’s on the ground floor. The air is a little stagnant, the floors creaky and the doors are wooden, chipped, and re-painted a few too many times. But it’s a welcome reprieve from the large, corporate communities popping over all over Emory’s perimeter.  There’s already traffic backed up down Ponce De Leon Ave, which doesn’t particularly bother Greg.

Greg doesn’t do bikes. Hates them. Hasn’t willingly ridden once since his dad took off his training wheels, pushed him down a hill, and inadvertently into the emergency room where he got his first of many sets of stitches. That said, its not like he has much of a choice. DUI means no license for six months. Period. And classes are already in session.

So Greg does what he has to. He brings a spare button-up. He rolls up one leg of his jeans. He buys a bike, pretending to care or understand what gear shifts are or what the difference between a commuter bike vs a racing bike vs a mountain bike is. He even buys one of those shitty reflective vests for night riding. Because hey, at this point in this life, he would rather be _not_ hit by a car. Which is a welcome surprise.

And so he makes his daily commute. He bypasses hundreds of college kids, grad students, hospital workers. People, alive, laughing. Speaking languages, he’s never heard. Wearing colors he’s never seen. Scents surround him that he’s never smelled – both a pro and a con.

So this is it. This is Emory.

Sure, its not exactly what he imagined. Emory isn’t necessarily in the center of Atlanta. Which he doesn’t necessarily mind. Its akin to his UCLA days, though a little less Beverly-Hills-ey. It’s a modest, green, sunny quiet. Plus, he’s right down the street from the church with meetings every Tuesday. It’s the best set up he can imagine.

* * *

Barry taps on his coffee cup and watches Greg intently. Greg continues to swirl his straw around his iced coffee, visibly perspiring.

“Hot enough for ya?” Barry jokes and Greg shoots him a sharp glance. _I hate adages._

Barry shrugs. The man in front of Greg is wearing a sharp, striped blue suit with a crisp tie and dark brown Oxford style dress shoes. He even has a little napkin in his pocket. Greg has to admit that when Guardrail was getting him set up with a sponsor, he expected some tattooed, burnt out, Hell’s Angels kinda looking dude. But Barry, dark brown skin, cropped hair and neatly trimmed beard with just a few gray hairs poking through, is not what he imagined. At all.

“Its – uh. Humid. Always this humid?” Greg jokes, taking a long sip from his iced coffee. No cream, no sugar. Tastes like shit.

“You’re in the South in the summertime, man.” Barry replies, taking a quick sip from his not-iced coffee. “So. What brings you Atlanta?”

A text comes through on his phone laying facedown on the coffee table in front of him and Greg hurriedly checks. From Hector. With a link to a Youtube video.

            Hector: 9:37am – close call dude

            Hector: 9:39am – this could have been you

            Hector: 9:39am – Attachment: Youtube – Crazy Lady 911 phone call

Greg sighs. He turns the phone back around and re-directs his attention to Barry.

“Hoping for someone to text you?” Barry inquires.

“No – I. I came because I got into business school in Emory. Like everyone else. A completely normal reason.”

 “Very impressive.” Barry responds. “What made you apply,” Barry looks Greg up and down, “At this point in your life?”

Greg is suddenly feeling a little too in the spotlight.

“Oh – I actually got in like four years ago. Yeah. Right after I graduated from college. Its – it’s a long story. Not really that interesting.”

“Coulda fooled me. From the way you’re dressed, I’d guess you’re here to be the weird older guy that hangs out at a skate part, but doesn’t skate.”

“... Okay. Hey. Do you have a problem with me or something?” Greg ruffles his eyebrows and leans back in his chair. Barry is smirking but there’s nothing sinister in his face.

“Just giving you shit. Just saying, a man near his 30s in grad school in one of the best cities for singles dressing like you do? A disservice.”

 “… Thanks.”

“I’m going to take you shopping.”

“Are you… are we? Is this? Are you… hitting on me?”

“Please. I know damn well from the way you dress you’re _straight._ And a straight up tragedy. Kid, you’re an Atlanta 9. You’re a good looking, well educated guy. Why don’t you act like it?”

Greg leans back. He casts down his eyes and stars wringing his hands. “I – I don’t know what to say. I am- I was – I have – I’ve been kind of a sad loser. Doesn’t help that I’m also,” Greg whispers, “an alcoholic,” and resumes in his regular intonation, “I don’t know… who else to be.”

“What you told me is you’re an alcoholic loser bartender. But you’re none of those things now. Not here. So who are you, Greg Serrano?”

Who is he?

That’s an excellent question.

* * *

 

Seasons. What a concept.

It almost surprises Greg as Summer turns to Fall that the nights are getting chillier. Just as surprising as he notices the foliage, green to yellow to red, change all around him. _Why would anyone want to leave this?_ He muses. Though he does have to admit – maybe he needs to buy some different clothes. For this, what do you call it? Oh yeah. _Weather._

Barry is a welcome reprieve. Truly. Mostly Greg is surrounded by kids in their early twenties, straight out of Ivy Leagues, work ethic and aggressiveness up the wazzoo. Most of them already have a solid start in business. Like, they even own stocks. Their own collection of ties. Generally, Greg was the most ‘dressed’ out of his friends in West Covina. He wore shoes that were not flip-flops. He never wore board shorts or bro tanks. But in this classroom, with these kids in their designer suits, thinking they’re _better_ than him?

If he’s honest, it irks him. Sure, maybe he’s a couple of years older. And sure, maybe the many many years of drinking heavily didn’t leave his mind or body in the best shape. And sure, maybe he feels like a sore thumb, sticking out in this black and blue pant suit parade with _his DUI_ and _new forehead wrinkle._ Whatever.

“Do you hear yourself?” Barry asks, picking up a button down shirt from a rack, holding it up to Greg who is absently touching jacket sleeves. Barry squints, nods to himself, and props it on his arm.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re just making shit up to distance yourself from your classmates. _Too old? Too DUI-ey_? Don’t have the same advantages as them? Come on. You did the same shit to get in that they did.”

Greg glowers. “Maybe four years ago it was easier.”

Barry picks up a pair of jeans holds them next to Greg’s butt, nodding approvingly.

“This self-sabotaging thing isn’t cute. No wonder you got dumped.”

Barry directs Greg towards a changing room and shoves him in, along with half a dozen shirts, jeans, slacks and jackets. Greg’s eyes get wide.

“First of all, I didn’t get dumped. _I_ left _her._ Second of all, trying all this stuff on is going to take, like, an hour.”

Barry nods and taps his wristwatch.

“I got time. Now tell me a little about this girl you ‘left.’ What’s her deal?”

Greg chuckles. He hasn’t talked about her in a while. And now that he was far away, and Barry doesn’t know her, well? Why the hell not.

“See, this girl, Rebecca. She was working hard at a New York job.”

* * *

Barry means well, Greg figures, but he’s also wrong. About his classmates. The younger ones clique together and go out drinking and are constantly hooking up with each other. As they do. The older ones with families rarely show up, and when they do, they bolt straight out the door.

Greg seems to be the only one in that sweet spot of _horrible, frustrating limbo._ But. There is someone that has been catching his eye recently. Not a classmate.  Sitting towards the front of the room in his _Practice of Finance_ class, rapidly typing notes and grading papers, he assumes is the PhD that’s TA’ing their class. When he looks over at her, she’s generally chewing on her pen, or doodling something in her notebook.

He might have made his way to the front of the classroom over the course of a few weeks. And sometimes, when Dr. Beard says something ridiculous and embarrassing, they glance at each other, her rolling her eyes and him smirking. Its become a private conversation between the two of them.

Greg knows that he can, mayhaps _should_ , make it a _verbal_ conversation.

She’s the one that eventually initiates it. Today she sits next to Greg and leans over during lecture.

“How long you think he can keep talking about the capital asset pricing model?” she whispers.

“Seriously. Wish it was more of a lowercase asset pricing model.”

She snorts and a few people briefly stare at them. Even Dr. Beard pauses during his lecture for a few seconds, shooting her a sharp glare before continuing.

She’s biting her lip and looking over to him, cheeks a little pink, face in the palm of her hand. Conventionally pretty. Long blonde hair. Almond shaped, chocolate-brown eyes. She’s got freckles, which Greg likes.

“I’m Emily,” she whispers to him, flashing him a perfect, white-bright smile.

“Greg,” he introduces himself. They smile each other for a split second longer before she sits straight up, looks towards the board with a serious expression, and continues to type vigorously on her laptop.

* * *

Josh Wilson (8:33pm) – Attachment: video, 12 seconds. Spiders’s’s?

Josh Wilson (8:35pm) – what you’re missing out on

Josh Wilson (8:38pm) – our boy looking fresh!

Greg Serrano (8:40pm) – hope he was wearing underwear with all those zippers

Josh Wilson (8:49pm) – you doing okay, man? With everything?

Greg Serrano (9:03 pm) – everythings awesome. Met someone in class

Greg Serrano (9:04pm) - You and Darryl still going strong?

Josh Wilson (9:06 pm) – yeah dude. Met his daughter the other day

Greg Serrano (9:10pm) – happy for you, man!

Josh Wilson (9:17pm) –Kick ass at Emory. Let me know next time you’re in town

Greg Serrano (9:20pm) – will do

* * *

 

Greg is absently scrolling through Instagram before class when he sees it.

 _Huh._ He doesn’t expect his heart to contract the way it does. Doesn’t expect for the adrenaline to immediately start coursing through his veins, for his palms to become sweaty, for his arms to become spaghetti.

Chan and Rebecca. Face-to-face, embracing and smiling wide.

#status update, #itsfacebookofficial #fromthemountaintops, #everafter #doublerainbows #merrilymerrilymerrilylifeisbutadream

He puts his phone down a little too forcefully and flinches at the noise it makes. Emily notices it and scoots over to him, concern in her eyes.

“You okay?”

He looks up at her and smiles a tight smile. “Are you free this Saturday?”

* * *

“Can you bring cameras in here?” Greg jokes, opening the front door of the museum for her.

Emily, with large Nikon camera in hand, looks around the large open space blissfully.

“Greg, you can bring cameras _everywhere.”_ She reassures him with a little wink. He pays for their admission tickets and she intertwines her arm around his without hesitation. Greg’s almost caught off balance. She’s acting like she’s known him his whole life.

Its kind of nice. Helps them get past the whole first grade awkwardness of who will hold hands first. That’s right, Greg tells himself. _This is an adult date. I am an adult man. We are at a museum, which is an adult location to go._

_So, Gregory. We are on a date._

Greg shakes his head and looks at Emily, smiling at him expectantly.

“I said, so, Greg, lets start this date!” She’s wearing shorts, a tight t-shirt with a wide brimmed hat. She looks like she’s going to Coachella. Greg shrugs. Very Southern Californian of her.

High Museum of Art is ridiculously expansive, but Emily seems like she’s been here before. She takes his hand and leads him straight into the photography section. She stares at the photographs and starts talking about them – the exposure, the aperture, what it represents, the symbolism. She’s talking non-stop.

“I want to teach, in the long run. I’m about three years in now so I’ve been teaching some undergrad classes, which has been super fun. Hopefully stay on the East Coast so I can travel lots and do photography. What about you?”

What about him? Greg peruses his brain. His goals are all very short term. Stay sober today. Do well on his tests. Maybe see his dad for the holidays.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Greg finally admits. “I’ve been focusing on leaving so long that I didn’t really have a plan. I don’t know. I guess learn to manage finances. Get into consulting. Something a little more reliable than – well. I was a bartender for years after college.”

“You’re kidding! But you went to UCLA?”

Greg chuckles and shakes his head at himself.

“Communications major. As you would guess, no big jobs in my small town for an undergrad communications major. But. I’m here. I’m ready to find a dream.”

“Anything… like a girlfriend, or something… to bring you back home?”

Greg laughs. “No. Nothing like that.”

Its already dark by the time she drops him off at home.

“Do you not have a car?” she teases, turning off the engine, letting the two of them sit in the dark.

“Its kind of a long story,” Greg says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “For next time?”

“You want there to be a next time?”

“…Only if you do.”

She leans over between the seats and catches him in a kiss.

Greg pulls back, surprised. He stumbles out of her car, almost falls backwards, and hears her laugh a little. He waves to her as she drives off. _Huh._

_See, Serrano? This is how you meet people. First you meet them. Then you date them. Then you kiss them. There’s a chronology to these sort of things. Dumbass._

* * *

Valencia is absently scrolling through her phone, laying back on the couch. Heather is at the table on her laptop. She has a textbook, Fundamentals of Fiction writing, open in front of her and she turns the pages every few minutes.

 “Whoa,” Valencia suddenly says, sitting up on the couch. “Greg is _following_ someone new on Instagram?”

Heather raises her head, curiosity piqued. “He is? He hasn’t followed anyone since Rebecca literally stole his phone and made him follow her.”

Valencia almost sprints over, showing Heather the phone.

“This is her profile – look at this, some cute landscape pictures and – whoa. Good for _Greg._ This girl is a straight up hottie!”

Heather nods in agreement. “I’d let her press my shutter.”

“What? – Wait. Do you think Rebecca’s seen this?”

“No, dude. She unfollowed Greg, like, a while ago.” Heather says.

“We shouldn’t tell her.” Valencia states.

“We should definitely not tell her. She’d go completely berserk.”

* * *

_She’s a nice, smart, beautiful girl, Serrano. And she’s into you. What are you doing?_

There’s only so many excuses he can make. Sure, he isn’t necessarily lying about studying, but, really, every night? For a week? And then he has to go to the dentist? He hasn’t been to the dentist in ages. And he has to go out of his way to come up for something on Tuesday. Because he sure as hell not telling her what he’s doing then.

“Hi, I’m Greg, and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi Greg!” Everyone in the church croons. About two dozen people crowd around on metal chairs. Burnt coffee and the smell of cigarettes permeate the air. Barry, to Greg’s right, is slouching, dressed in a maroon suit with black tie. He looks like he’s late for a performance at a jazz club, only missing a saxophone and some funky shades. Everyone else, though? Just as tired and disheveled as Greg is.

Greg works through the irritation inkling in the back of his head during the serenity prayer and looks down at his lap during the reading. Step eleven is the most irritating one of all. Seek understanding of God and God’s hand in carrying them through their addiction through prayer and meditation. What a load of bullshit.

But. Well. He’s had perfect attendance so far. It was a good group of people. There are some young people around him too, maybe his age. Maybe students or researchers or professors at Emory. That, at least, is comforting.

“I just - she’s nice, and interesting. But I’m, you know, focusing on school. And my sobriety. I just… don’t think I should be with someone, you know, seriously.”

“That’s not a real problem. That’s a made up problem.” Barry is dissecting one of the stale donuts at the end of the meeting with a knife until he finds one with cream filling, and happily throws it in his mouth.

“But – “

“Dude, you’ve got to get over this Rebecca girl. She’s dating your best friend. She’s across the country. You made a _choice_ to move forward in your life. Why are you still letting her prevent you from doing it? Move on, man.”

Greg pauses. Barry isn’t wrong. Rebecca didn’t hesitate for a second to get back with Chan. Why is _he_ hesitating?

Greg grabs a cup of coffee, tosses his backpack over his shoulder, and starts his walk back home.

Greg Serrano (9:07pm) – Hey, sorry I disappeared on you. You wanna grab dinner?

Emily Parker (9:25pm) - :) I’m glad you texted me.

Emily Parker (9:27pm) – absolutely

* * *

He can move on. He can move on _hard._

“I’ll cook.” That was what he said in anticipation for their third date. It was an impulsive thing to do, Greg realizes. Greg hasn’t cooked for anyone in… what feels like forever. He’s barely touched the stove since Serrano’s closed down. His dad swore off cooking after that happened and replaced the insides of the oven with bags and bags of sunflower seeds. And he removed all the burners from the stove and filled them with mineral rocks. For the macaws to play with. That oven is so saturated in bird shit Greg isn’t sure anything cooked on there would be edible.

When she comes over that evening, he sets the meal on his coffee table. He even lights a candle. Triple wick.  

She looks sheepish as he opens the door for her, looking around his apartment and steps gingerly inside. She’s almost face to face with him, tall without heals. She walks around, looking into his kitchen,

“So... this is your place, huh?”

Greg shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, continuing to stand next to the door. He slowly makes his way over to the coffee table, keeping his eyes trained on her as she looks from wall to wall, at each of the books on his shelves.

“Why don’t you have any pictures or anything?” she asks, continuing to do a quick tour of his one bedroom. “Dark past?” she asks, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Hey – uh. Dinner is ready. Don’t want it to get cold…”

“Oh – Wow!” she exclaims, voice raising an octave and she jumps over to him, sitting down on the couch in front of her plate. “Look at this – wow, salad, some kind of sexy, cheesy… something, and is that fresh baked bread?”

“Yeah – its, uh. That’s eggplant parmesan and home made garlic bread and a chopped salad – I, I went vegetarian, didn’t know if you eat meat. Oh shit, are you vegan? There’s a lot of cheese on here, if you’re vegan I can just go, and I’ll – “

Emily looks up at him from the couch and takes his hand, pulling him to sit down.

“Stop. I’m not vegan. This looks amazing. Only thing all this is missing is a nice bottle of red!”

“…Right. Actually. I’m not much of a drinker. If that’s okay. Not that I’m not okay with you drinking. I just didn’t buy. I can go out and – “

Emily places a finger over his lips and leans in, eyes on his.

“Stop acting so nervous. This is perfect.”

The minute she bites into the eggplant parmesan, she lets out a guttural moan, almost making Greg jump straight out of his seat. She flutters her eyes a few times looking up to the ceiling and looks at him, suddenly serious.

“Holy shit, dude. Wow – seriously, Greg, wow. Are – are you like professionally trained?”

Greg blushes and looks down into his plate.

“Stop, you don’t have to –“

Emily places a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey. I know I don’t. This is the best eggplant parmesan I’ve ever tasted.”

Greg beams. “The trick is, you have to cut the eggplants real thin, and then salt them and leave them out for a few hours, it takes the bitterness right out! And the cheese, I mean you gotta find the right cheese – “

Emily kisses him hard in the middle of his sentence and he feels his heart do a little leap. He kisses her back – almost imagines his hand running through short brown hair. But Emily’s face is thinner, sharper, her hair long, straight, and he doesn’t find his fingers getting tangled in the curls. Greg lets himself have that twinge of disappointment before he picks Emily up bridal style, and, her squealing with joy, tosses her on his bed.  

He finds out she has a tattoo of Egdar Allan Poe in aviators on her ribcage that night. And a bunch more things that he very much enjoys learning.

* * *

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Emily asks him. She’s in her bra and panties, head on his lap, scrolling through her phone.

He looks down at her and stutters out an answer.

“I – I guess just study for finals.”

“You’re not gonna go home?”

Greg pauses. His mind jumps to Josh and Rebecca and he shakes his head. _How do those thoughts keep sneaking in there?_

“Nah, not interested.”

“Cool,” she responds. She throws her phone to the other end of the couch, sits up, and straddles him.

“I don’t want to see my family either. Want to hang out?”

Greg grins and leans into her, landing a few small kisses along her chest.

“Sounds good.”


	9. Chapter 9

You can’t invite your ex-boyfriend to your wedding.

That’s cardinal rule number one. Josh didn’t say anything explicitly to Rebecca – he’s not even really helping, or present, or around, or even that excited it seems – but Rebecca knows that you don’t wear white unless you’re the bride, you don’t let your future beau see you in your dress, and you definitely _definitely_ don’t invite your ex boyfriend to your wedding.

But she hasn’t heard from Greg in six months. Not a single text. No phone calls. No Words with Friends notifications. She knows because she checks every few days. Just in case her phone messed up and she missed the notification. Maybe he lost his phone. Or maybe Atlanta doesn’t have cell phone towers.

Except Rebecca knows that’s not true. Knows it because she ‘borrowed’ Paula’s triangulating cell phone signal thing. And as long as Greg still has the same phone number, she knows where his phone is all the time. Which, to say, is most likely his apartment. Its definitely not weird or crazy to have done this. Truly _easier_ for everyone because now she doesn’t have to ask him or any of his friends for his new address! So really, Rebecca is the considerate one. She’s inviting Greg for Josh’s sake, of course. Because they’re been friends from kindergarten. And it would be weirder, she figures, to _not_ invite him. Then he’ll think that, like, he affects them or their lives or she misses him or something. So, truly, this is the only logical and completely sane and not at all weird solution.

She can imagine it now. She’s about to say her ‘I Do’s’ when Greg, in a sharp suit, runs in, yelling ‘Stop!’ Everyone stands up in utter confusion. Greg then tells everyone about how much he loves her, and how much he wishes he’s never left, and that he’s ready to start their lives together if she is. Rebecca, in the eyes of her father, Josh, mother, everyone, loved and wanted by not only one but two men, would look back at Josh, with some regret, but she’d toss her bouquet as she runs towards Greg, he lifts her in his arms like he does, and they ride off into the sunset. That would give her chills. That’s what would make her happy. That would fix all her problems.

She scribbles his name on the invitation and runs outside, in one of her many ordered wedding dresses, to the mailbox. She knows that watching the mailbox and waiting for someone to pick it up won’t help it get picked up faster and definitely knows that refreshing her email over and over again to see if he RSVP’ed won’t make it happen faster either.

But won’t stop her from trying.

* * *

 He’s surprised at himself when he doesn’t turn over the coffee table, throw his phone against the wall, scream. He’s simply sitting on his couch next to his girlfriend who is opening his mail, watching some bad movie, when she starts to talk.

“Ooh, babe! You got a wedding invite from your home town – It says Rebecca Nora Bunch and Joshua Felix Chan invite you – Oh, its perfect! Its right when we’re in town for the Christmas holidays! “

Greg’s head turns so quick he almost gets whiplash. Emily doesn’t know, _can’t_ know, and her bright eyes and cheerful smile as she starts to type in the link at the bottom of the invitation into her phone…

“Stop.” He breathes, almost too quietly. “We’re not going.”

“…What?”

“I said we’re not going.” Greg’s words are sharp, final, spoken with so much venom that Emily scoots away from him on the couch and stares him down.

“-What?” Greg snaps at her and she just shakes her head.

“What are you doing opening my mail anyway?” he glowers, grabbing the invitation out of her hand and immediately throws it over the couch onto the floor.

Emily is looking up at him like she can’t believe this is him. He’s never seen her so surprised. And scared.

Her body shrinks into the couch and … Jesus, he’s _scaring_ her. Greg’s eyes widen in realization. He bolts straight off the couch as fast as he can and rushes for the door.

His voice is softer when he speaks to her again.

 “I – I have to go. I have to take a walk. Please don’t follow me.”

“Greg –“ Emily pleads, now leaning forward, desperation replacing the fear on her face.

“Please.” He croaks out.

‘Cool,’ he thinks, bolting straight down the usual route. ‘I’m being a dick to my girlfriend who did absolutely nothing wrong and my ex is marrying my best friend six months after I leave. Cool. Cool. This is going really great for me.’

Rebecca, looking up at him with those big doe eyes, begging him to stay. And he almost did. He _almost_ did. And she did exactly what he was afraid of. Of course she’s getting married. To Josh Chan. Of course everyone is happy with him gone.

He’s been here a couple of times.

Sometimes just to watch. It always unsettled him, watching people, clearly unable to take care of themselves, with no food, no home, no place to go. But they take out spare change and they buy shooters of hard liquor, just a few at a time. Sometimes he sees familiar faces, as if he’s seen them at the meetings once or twice. Once or twice he walked the aisles, phone plastered to his ear, letting Barry talk him down.

But today, that thought doesn’t scare him. He walks right past the doors, ignores the too-friendly ‘welcome’ of the guy behind the counter, and walks straight to where he knows they keep the whiskey.

If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it _right_. Would be a waste to throw away six months of sobriety on the cheap stuff. He was never really a connoisseur, the shit all tasted the same after ten or so drinks, but he grabs the most expensive bottle not locked behind glass and makes a beeline for the counter.

“Haven’t seen you in here before,” the young guy behind the counter quips as he’s ringing up Greg’s bottle.

“Hmm.”

“This is the good stuff. Mostly college kids around here so I don’t see people buying this.”

“Okay.” Greg responds, sharply. He doesn’t look at the man’s eyes. He doesn’t look at anything but the floor as he grabs his purchase and walks, quickly, heart racing and eyes bleary, in whatever direction his feet take him.

He finds himself in a park. He must have walked into some kind of valley because the trees were suddenly towering over him and there was complete silence. The only thing Greg hears is the gentle bubbling of a creek, although he can’t see where.

He takes out his phone to turn on the flashlight and find a place to sit so he can get down to business of fucking everything up. As he does.

But there’s about a dozen texts from Emily on his phone and despite the fact that this immediately annoys him, he scrolls through.

Emily Parker (8:33 pm) – Hey, please be safe! I’m going to wait until you get back.

Emily Parker(9:17pm) – Greg, please come back. I’m getting really worried.

Emily Parker(9:29pm) – I’m so sorry I opened your mail. I won’t ever do that again. Please come home.

Emily Parker(9:45pm) – Seriously. Please. I’m getting scared. Don’t do anything crazy. Just come home and we can talk about it. Or not talk about it. Please.

Emily Parker(9:57pm) – Okay, that’s it. I’m calling Barry. We’re going to go out looking for you.

Emily Parker(10:02pm) – Greg. I love you. Please come home.

Greg pauses at the last text.

She’s never told him that before. Actually, no one has ever told him that before.

She’s terrified and he’s… doing this to her. He’s being a selfish jerk. Because of what? Because of Rebecca and Chan? Enough.

He checks the time. 10:05pm. Maybe she hasn’t left yet.

Greg Serrano (10:06pm) – You don’t have to do that. I’ll be home soon.

Greg Serrano (10:07pm) – I’m sorry.

When he comes back to his apartment, Emily hasn’t left her spot on the couch. In the light of the Netflix screen, he can see her frantically typing into her phone. She looks up at him and relief floods her face. Greg walks up to her and hands her the box of donuts he’s been carrying.

“Day olds. Just how you like them.”

“Greg –“

“Hey, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Things are… complicated… back home. But I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. And I’m sorry.”

Emily smiles at him and reaches her hands out, luring him back to sitting down on the couch. She envelops him in an embrace and slowly, he hugs back.

 “Want to keep watching this?”

Emily smiles and nods.

“Definitely. But let me just text Barry real quick. He’s totally freaking out.”

He places a hand over hers, covering her screen, and looks at her. She looks up, surprised, meeting his gaze.

“Did you mean what you texted me?”

Her face softens. “Of course. I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but – “ she bites her lip and places her head against his shoulder.

“I love you, Greg.”

Greg pauses. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest. A beautiful woman who cares about him, who loves him is sitting on the couch next to him. And he’s being an absolute buffoon. It hurts. His heart hurts. But he says it anyway. And he means it.

“I love you too.”

* * *

All the men she loves leave her. Josh left. Her father left. Greg, Greg left. She’s not sure why his name, finally saying it after all these months of treating it like it was forbidden and foreign, finally breaks her. Even in that moment, she can’t be mad at him. When every impulse in her is screaming to just jump off this cliff, end this insane, never-ending, heartbreaking rollercoaster ride, at least she knows… That Greg is happy. That he got out.

And that’s okay.

Until she remembers. Robert. Rage fills her anew.

No, the problem isn’t her.

The problem is him.

Josh Chan.

Josh Chan must be destroyed.

* * *

Marco Serrano is almost _too_ enthusiastic to meet Emily.

“Good on you, son, you finally nixed that crazy bitch, huh?” he whispers, but not quite quietly enough, to Greg.

Greg opens his eyes wide and makes throat-cutting motions with his hands as Emily wanders around his dad’s one-bedroom apartment, large camera draped around her neck.

She stops in front of the giant Serrano’s sign.

“Greg, you never told me your family had a restaurant!” she muses, squinting in on the article right below the sign, hung in a frame. She brings her camera up to her face, takes a quick shot of the framed article, and sets it back down. Greg shuts his eyes tight. Wow. So the camera thing is just something she _does_ , huh?

“I guess that’s why your son is such an excellent chef, sir,” Emily muses, sauntering over to them. Greg catches his dad eying her up and down, and after a few seconds, nods approvingly, much to Greg’s eternal disgust.  

“Hmm – Greg is cooking? Greg hasn’t cooked for years!”

“The stove is a macaw amusement park, dad. I couldn’t well cook here, the bird shit would ignite and take all of us with it _._ ”

“Eh, Sinatra need a place to sharpen his beak, you know I can’t say no to that face! But Greg, gotta say, sounds like we have more in common than I thought!” Marco winks at Greg and Greg shakes his head again.

“I truly hope not.”

“Alright you two, get outta here. My lady friends are coming back from their family Christmas dinner and the heat turns way _way_ up when they don’t feel like their grandkids love ‘em. So take all that food with you. But you can leave the camera.”

“Okay dad. Great. Shut up. Also.” Greg grabs Emily by the arm and slowly ushers her out, her doing a weird, half-wave to Marco while simultaneously cringing.

“You’re disgusting. See you on New Years.”

Marco blows Greg an exaggerated kiss, the act of pursing his lips forcing him into another classic Serrano coughing fit. Greg wavers at the door, but Marco continues to wave him out.

“Go, go, ya moron. See you in a few days.”

* * *

Hector is the first to call. A little earlier than Greg expected, but he _did_ expect it. He steps outside the AirBnB, motioning to Emily that he’s on the phone as she clicks through Netflix selections, and starts to walk the block.

“What’s up, man?” Greg answers, tone serious. Greg’s mouth feels uncharacteristically dry and he speeds up his gait.

“Dude, good thing you didn’t come. The whole thing was straight up a disaster.” Loud music is playing in the background and Greg can hear laughing and yelling. _What?_

“What – really?”

“Yeah. Josh was a no show. He went to the _seminary_ to be a _priest._ You can’t make this shit up!!”

Greg pauses.

“Oh. Is Rebecca okay?”

“You know her, she’s crazy. She almost leapt off a cliff. Then she ran off somewhere with that older, hot red headed chick she hangs out with. We’re still here though. Can’t waste this dope reception dinner and dance floor. My mom bought a special dress and we are _not_ gonna go home until she flaunts it!”

“You’re the worst. Also, you should stop living with your mom.”

“Cool, Serrano. Let me know when you’re free for a brew – or a sparkling water or whatever. Peace.”  

* * *

Greg checks the envelope again and then the address of the house.

It seems really familiar. _Wait_. Wasn’t this that house that all those people got murdered?

_Huh._

He sighs and looks at himself in the rearview mirror. He looks exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes. He musses his hair briefly, frowns at the mirror and gets out of the car, grabbing the white bag in his passenger seat. Luckily, that taco place on East Cameron is still open.

His heart is racing out of control in his chest. He takes a few steps forward. Stops. Looks around. Its evening. There’s a winter chill in the air. But its quiet. So quiet that he can hear the blood rushing to his ears. He shouldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. This is a horrible, terrible mistake. Greg’s footsteps speed up and he breathes in deep, makes his shaking hand into a fist, and knocks on the front door.

 “Hey Greg.” Heather, calm and uninterested, opens the door.

_Heather?_

“Uh.. “ Greg stumbles back a step, blood creeping up to his face. _What?_ Greg tries to recoup, stands up straight, and curses his dumb voice for quivering so much. “Is… Rebecca home?”

“No. She hasn’t been back since Josh left her at the alter. Major bummer ‘cause she didn’t set any of the bills to autopay. I’m literally so worried.” Heather points to her own completely flat, expressionless face, “Can’t you tell?”

“… Its subtle.” Greg responds. Heather continues to stand in the doorway, completely silent. He moves uncomfortably, eventually lifting his thumb and pointing away from himself.

“I guess I should go.”

“Okay Greg. Still rootin’ for ya buddy,” Heather reaches out and grabs the bag out of his hands as he’s turning away. “But I will take these tacos though. Bye.”

She closes the door in his face and Greg stands still, staring ahead. Unsure of what just happened, he slowly makes his way back to his rental car. Fires up Google maps. And makes his way back to his Air BnB.

* * *

 

Emily is already in bed when he comes in. She’s reading something on her phone and her face lights up when she sees him.

“Hey! I’m so glad you’re back! How are Hector and Josh? I mean, White Josh. Weird nickname.”

“Oh – yeah.” Greg says, as he takes of his jeans and leaves them haphazardly on the floor. “They’re good.” He pulls his T-shirt over his head and climbs under the covers with just his boxers on. Emily immediately gravitates to him, intertwining her bare legs with his.

“I missed you,” she whispers against his shoulder blade and starts to trail a few tiny kisses up his arm.

Greg doesn’t move.

“Hey – Hey. I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood tonight. Is that okay?”

Emily stops kissing him and plants her face into his arm.

“Urgh. What is _with_ you lately? Yeah. Fine. Turn off the lamp. Goodnight.”

Greg frowns as she turns away from him in bed and he flicks the switch of the lamp on his nightstand. He lays down and tentatively puts his arm around her. She doesn’t stop him.

Fuck.

 “Emily, I have to tell you something.”

She turns around until they’re almost nose to nose.

“I wasn’t hanging out with Josh and Hector. I went to my ex-girlfriend’s house.”

“What?” Emily almost yells, sitting straight up in the bed. He’s never seen her like this, jaw tight and nostrils flaring. He turns on the lamp and sits up as well, resting his elbows on his knees. He continues to meet her eye, despite every desire to look down at his hands, and tries to look as apologetic as possible.

“Did you – “

“No. Well, she wasn’t there. A different ex-girlfriend was. Long story. But its not like that. I found out she got left at the alter today and… I just wanted to see if she was okay.”

Emily stops for a second. She appears to be counting in her head until something clicked into place and she looks at him, anger and disbelief overwhelming her normally gentle face.

“…Wedding, today? Like the one you went ballistic over when you saw the invitation?”

Greg lowers his eyes in embarrassment. “Yes.”

The tone is almost accusatory, but Emily is clear and direct. “Do you _love_ her?”

_Yes._

“God – no. I… I don’t know what it is. I’m not trying to defend myself. Somehow, this girl just… brings out the worst in me.”

He looks up at Emily, who slouched a bit, although she’s continuing to make a face like she smells something bad.

“… But those bad things are still _me._ ” Greg continues, and she looks at him sadly. Like she’s finally realizing that too. _“_ I realize that now. Even when I’m not drinking, I’m still that guy.”

“…Okay.”

“Emily. I’m going to get help. Not just AA. I’m talking therapy. I’m talking psychiatrists. I’ll shove a pill up my ass every day. I swear to you I will never, ever, ever lie to you again.”

_You go back to that girl, you might as well start hitting the bottle again._

God, he hates when his dad is right.


	10. Chapter 10

 “You understand that alcoholism is just a symptom of the overall problem, don’t you, Greg?”

Greg twiddles his thumbs.   
“I haven’t really thought about it.”

Greg sinks a little bit farther into the leather chair across from his psychiatrist. She pushes her glasses to the tip of her nose, watching him expectantly. She lets the silence sit between them, like she’s letting him think. He doesn’t like it. He really _hasn’t_ thought about it. It made sense to him why he’s an alcoholic. His life sucked.

After about a minute of silence and Greg refusing to make eye contact with her, the woman starts again, tone soft.

“The persistently low self esteem. The mood fluctuations. The thoughts that people would be happier without you. The hopelessness and helplessness and resignation that you’re telling me about back in your home town. Did all these things disappear when you moved out here?”

Dr. Rachal taps her pen against her leg, again letting silence sit between them.

“I guess… I guess not.” Greg admits.

“It sounds to me, like you spent years blaming it on different things. Your home town. Your dad. This Rebecca girl you keep mentioning. Why do you think that is?”

Greg flinches at Rebecca’s name. Does he _really_ keep mentioning her?  

“I guess… because I couldn’t accept responsibility. But – but I have now. I admitted I was responsible for my crappy life. I made a change. Stopped drinking. I told you all that.”

“An amazing step. One that most people die without ever taking. And I’m proud of you for that. But… you, of all people, should know. Step 1 is admitting that you are _powerless._ That you need help.”

“I’m not powerless,” Greg asserts, suddenly sitting straight up in the chair, voice sharp. “I quit drinking. And I moved out here. I’m _not_ powerless.”

“Why does that scare you so much? To be powerless?”

“It doesn’t. I’m not scared. You’re – you’re scared. I’m at Emory. Top of my class. Live-in girlfriend, who I’m very serious with, for the first time in my life. I’m healthy, and happy. And not scared.” He almost rants, listing the above on his fingers, leaning forward. But he still doesn’t look up at Dr. Rachal, speaking more towards the floor than to her.

“That – that’s what I’m talking about. How is you so carefully planning every aspect of this life and breaking all ties with West Covina different from drinking? This is avoidance. This is fear of being who you were in West Covina. But, Greg, you _are_ that person.  Moving to Atlanta doesn’t change that. And, perhaps you’re so afraid of Rebecca because she reminds you of that fact. She makes you feel powerless.”

Greg shifts uncomfortably in his chair again. He finds himself scowling, jaw tight. _Why does she keep bringing up Rebecca?_

“I’d like to write a medication for you. There’s evidence it helps with alcohol cravings too. If you’re open to it.”

“Alright.”

“See you next week?”

Greg feels his body slump, thoughts racing through his head. This is a bad feeling. This is not a good feeling. He wants to respectfully decline this feeling. Is this person… right? Is he _afraid_ of West Covina? No, that can’t be true.

* * *

Robert’s not a dog. Josh Chan knows. Everybody knows. She’s crazy.

She was in the loony bin.

She came to start over and now? Everyone is going to know. Everyone is going to hate her. Everyone is going to avoid her and be ashamed of her. Rebecca Nora Bunch is crazy.

Psycho, obsessive, stalker, crazy…

No. She’s not crazy. She’s _not_ crazy. Don’t call her crazy.

No. No. She can’t let this happen.

* * *

Greg’s fingers hover over Rebecca’s name on his phone. He’s laying on his couch, the blinds shut, everything around him dark and quiet. He clenches his fists and lightly hits his forehead instead, taking in a deep breath. His eyes focus on ‘block caller.’ So easy to press. And not like its impossible to unblock her, right? What if something happens and she needs him? Greg shakes his head and rolls his eyes at himself.

_That’s a fucking stupid way of thinking about it, Serrano. Get a hold of yourself._

He grits his teeth and continues to stare at that New York area code. When they were together, she insisted on setting up a contact photo – coincidentally when they were in bed – with hair standing up, lipstick smeared, blushing and smiling so wide that Greg, even after all these months, feels the wind get knocked out of him.

It couldn’t be a good sign that he hasn’t gotten rid of the picture.

He promised to in therapy. More than that, he promised Emily. And he’s done a decent job. Blocked her on Facebook. Instagram. Even deleted Words with Friends.  

Greg hears the lock of his door start to turn and he immediately sits up, shoving his phone into his pocket. _Act natural._ Greg sits up, interlaces his fingers and sits, smiling at the door, heart racing.

“Babe, I’m h – Oh. Hey. Uh,” Emily taps the side of the door and cocks her head. “What... what are you doing? You look creepy.”

Greg chuckles forcefully. “Creepy? Me? Never.”

Emily purses her lips and smiles tightly.

“Anyway – I know I just came home but you wanna go out to eat? I’m craving a burger.”

“Of course – let me grab my wallet. Be right there.”

Greg’s face falls flat as he turns away from his girlfriend.

There’s burger spot a few blocks from their apartment. He keeps his hands in his pockets, trailing next to, and sometimes behind, Emily on their walk over. Its only been a couple of weeks since they got back from that disastrous Christmas back in West Covina and the fact that she moved her stuff into his apartment and _didn’t_ run away is miraculous.

So when his phone starts to ring in his pocket, he briefly ignores it. When he does take it out, he feels all the blood drain from his face. His head is buzzing. _Bunch?_ _What could you possibly want?_

“Babe – what’s wrong?” Emily looks up from her phone, concerned, “You look like you ate bad egg salad.”

Emily’s voice wakes him up and his finger immediately presses the ignore button.

“Telemarketer.”

“Urgh. I get those calls like five times a day.” She laments and he chuckles in agreement, racing thoughts already forming in his head.

_What if she needs him? What if she misses him?_

He can’t sleep, despite the fact that Emily fell asleep hours ago. Can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop imagining scenarios where, for the first time in over six months, she’s pick up the phone and call him.

He clicks on his call history – and, oh. _Oh._ He must have accidentally called her when his screen was on her number. That’s why. She was just calling back. Disappointment settles in the pit of Greg’s stomach and he fucking hates himself for it.

 “Why do I do this to myself…” Greg whispers, shutting his eyes tight, the last time he saw Rebecca, tearstained, desperate, begging him to stay tattooed on the insides of his eyelids.

He finally presses ‘Block this caller.’ He licks his lips, the thirst for a gin and tonic hitting him like a brick wall. He turns in the bed, wraps his arm around Emily, and begs the universe to just let him sleep.  

* * *

 

And so she’s alone.

Completely alone.

Even then, when she was irrational, fighting with Paula, feeling weird or lonely or being blown off by Josh, she could always go to Home Base.

And Greg was always there. Always with some snarky remark to make her smile and forget her problems for a little while.

She can’t bring herself to go there tonight. So she opens the doors of the place that’s second closest, old Western themed place on East Cameron with saloon doors, and sits down at the bar. _‘I’ll drink anywhere,’_ Greg’s ghost whispered in her head, like he was sitting next to her, whiskey in hand, books and pens scattered next to him, _‘But I do my study drinking here.’_

Greg Serrano. Off in Atlanta. Living his best life. Never thinking of her. Grateful that he got away from her.

Her phone rings and… its Greg. Wait. Its Greg.

Rebecca practically jumps up from her seat, pointing to the phone frantically.   
“Its him!!! Its Emory!!! It’s the guy! He knew that I needed him, on some primal level, deep down!”

She finds herself screaming his name into the phone, hoping he’d hear thousands of miles away.

Of course he didn’t mean to talk to her. Who wants to talk to her? Who wants her? Under what reality would Greg pick up the phone, what, 7 months, not that she was counting, after leaving West Covina and never sending her so much as a _text,_ why would he be calling her now?

Of course it was a mistake. Everything in her life is a mistake.

She turns back to the bar, shoulders slumped and eyes defeated.

“He doesn’t want me,” she whispers, inaudibly to the barkeep but more to herself. “Nobody wants me. I officially alienated every person I know,” the words tumbling from Rebecca’s mouth like they’re accidental, and she’s shaking her head the whole time. _How did this happen?_

She glances around her to the mostly empty bar, eyes focusing on a semi-familiar face. _Huh._

“Its Old Greg,” she explains to the barkeep, quickly correcting herself, “Marco. Greg’s dad.” The barkeep just nods, barely listening. Rebecca grabs all her things, not paying attention to anything but Marco, sipping on what had to be his – what – fifth drink?

“Hey”

“Oh boy.”

“I just wanted to say hello – I know you hate me, everyone does.”

“You been boozing?”

“No, I’m not a boozer. Not like your drunky son who just butt dialed me. But – uh. How is that guy, anyway?” A flitter goes through Rebecca’s chest, an ominous cloud around her. _Please say he’s sad and fat and bald. Please tell me he’s hurting too. I can’t be the only one… like this._

_“_ No, he’s sober. And he fell madly in love with a girl in his class.”

Rebecca’s heart drops. “Uh – what?” _Already?_ “What’s... what’s her first and last name, and if that’s common, what’s her middle name?”

Marco Serrano smirks and brings his drink to his lips, shaking his head. His voice is raspy and he stinks like cigarettes.

“Oh no you don’t. For the first time in his life, he’s happy.”

Happy. Happy. Happy. The word reverberates in Rebecca’s head like an echo. He’s happy. Everyone’s happy. Without her in their lives.

The second Marco put his hand over hers and gave her a little smile, nodding and understanding and comforting, Rebecca had some choices to make.

Its not like her to choose good ones.

After all, she’s Rebecca. She ruins things.

That’s what she does.

* * *

 

_I know you did your best. Don’t worry about me. I’m ok._

Everyone hates her. She has no home. No one to turn to. No one to love her. Naomi gave her hope, for a spare second, for a tiny minute. But even that is gone. If only they could drop her off in a cornfield somewhere.

But she’s just so tired.

She swallows one pill. It goes down bitter in her throat.

Her arms, legs, body feel so heavy in this seat. The world around her bleary, hopeless, helpless. Even breathing is too hard, too exhausting. Her lids grow heavy. She’s tired. She’s so, so tired.

She pours the rest of the pill bottle into her hand. Pauses. The clouds are rolling outside the window. Its blue, beautiful, shining. Peaceful. The music in her head dims – and suddenly, its quiet. Inexplicable quiet. Even her heart rests in her chest. She can have this peace. She can have this peace forever.

_Bu-dump. Ba-dump._

She brings the wine to her lips. Two more pills. She looks around. No one is watching. The world goes on. Everything will go on. A few more. The wine is acidic in her mouth, burning in her throat. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do. Another few pills. No tears. No hesitation. This is the solution. It took her so long to get here, but. Bitterness and elation mix in her throat. Finally.

The clouds pass by, and she’s among them. Floating and weightless. Its oh, so quiet. Her vision, hazy now, unfocused, dimming. Her eyelids are so heavy now. Begging for her to sleep. To dream.

_Help._

_Please._ She can hardly breathe. Each movement grueling. Why won’t she let herself rest. Please. Please rest Rebecca. Its time.

_Hope._

She’s moving through water. Everything thick around her. The words are sticky but she knows them, feels them. Salty tears are trickling but she doesn’t register them.

“I need help.”

* * *

“Greg, where did you put that lasagna you prepared last week?”

“We ate that on Thursday, remember?” Greg responds absently, taking his phone out of his pocket.

“Then what should we make today? We have some chicken breasts, bell peppers, onions – ooh! How about fajitas?”

Greg looks down at his phone to see one missed message. From Heather.

Heather Davis (10:04 am ): Hey Greg. Call me when you have the chance.

Proper punctuation, everything capitalized. Must be serious.

Greg looks back at his girlfriend, taking out pots and pans in the kitchen, and redirects his gaze back to his phone. A knot forms in his stomach. There’s only one person that Heather, of all people, could be calling him about.

Greg pushes the call button.

She picks up after two or so rings and stays silent.

“H-hello? Heather?” Greg awkwardly croaks out. Behind him he hears Emily stop rifling through the refrigerator.

“Is everything okay?”

“Well, Hector and I just had our third date and it went really good. I think we’re gonna keep seeing each other.”

“….Okay.” Greg responds.

“Okay, that was the warning shot. Greg, Rebecca tried to kill herself. We’re in the hospital with her now.”

“… What? Wait, hold on,” Greg works hard to control his voice, but wants to bolt off the couch and start walking, running, do something. “When? What happened? Is she okay?”

“Oh, it happened like a week ago. Yeah. They diverted her plane to Nevada and then after she got her stomach pumped she flew here. Now she’s on a psychiatric hold so we’re just hanging out.”

He feels Emily’s eyes trained on him and he gets up, shoots her an apologetic smile, and heads straight for their patio, closing the door behind him.

“… Do you know why?”

“She kind of spiraled after Josh came back from priest school.”

“Pre-school?”

“Priest.” Heather annunciates. “But you know her. She’s been mentally ill for a long time. Everything just piled together. She finally hit rock bottom.”

Heather on the other end of the line pauses, and he could hear her saying something off to the side, Hector’s familiar voice in the room.

“She’s got all of us here, me, Paula, V–“

“Valencia?” Greg asks. “Like, Valencia Valencia?”

“You’ve missed a lot since you’ve been gone.”

So it seems. 

The thought jumps into his head almost immediately and Greg grips the railing on his porch, suddenly wanting to vomit. Just a few days prior, he missed a call from Rebecca.

And she tried to kill herself.

“I – she called me last week. I didn’t know.” Tears form in his eyes and he makes a fist, lightly hitting the railing a few times. Wanting nothing more than to turn his fist to the brick wall right next to him. “I really didn’t know. Heather - ”

Heather’s voice came over the phone, soft, calming.

“This isn’t about you, Greg.”

“Then why tell me?” he implores, suddenly flustered and accusatory. “So I feel bad?”

“Dude. Because its Rebecca. Seems like you’d want to know.”

_Its important to me you’re upset. You kinda dicked me over for her._

“Can – should I come?”

“And perpetuate her obsession that a man has to come and save her? I don’t think so.” Heather pauses. “You want me to get her something?”

Greg paces on his porch, ten feet there, ten feet back. He puts his fingers in his mouth and starts to chew his nails. He’s silent for what seems like eternity but Heather doesn’t interject.

 “The most ironic stick balloon they have. No flowers.”

“Got it, Greg.” Heather pauses, letting silence sit between them.

“We miss you here, dude. Its not the same. Hector says hi.”

A wave of nostalgia hits Greg like a truck. He leans his back against the railings of porch and looks past the screen doors inside apartment, where his girlfriend looks like she’s pretending to chop up limes in the kitchen all while darting glances towards him.

“Miss you too. Miss all of you. I’ll… I’ll call next time I’m in town.”

Greg looks at his phone for a moment and places it back into his pocket. He opens the sliding door to meet his girlfriend, looking at him expectantly from the kitchen.

“Who was that?” she asks. Her body is stiff and her voice is high. She’s upset.

Greg drags a hand through his hair and looks at the door. His whole body is pulsating with adrenaline and, god, Emily probably wants to _talk._

“I just gotta take a walk.” Greg replies deadpan, heading towards the door.

“Hey – babe. I – do you want me to come with you?” Greg flinches. He recognizes that tone. The tone she always uses when he does badly on a test, or when Marco’s nurse calls him to tell him that she keeps finding stashes of cigarettes in his room, or when his study group runs late and he realizes he missed the last meeting of the night. A tone that she adopted the night after they got the invitation.

“No,” he whispers, hand against the doorframe, leaning his whole body against it, steadying himself.

“No. I have to do this alone.”

* * *

If Greg is anything, he’s sentimental. He finds his feet hitting the same valley that he rushed to with a bottle of whiskey just a few weeks prior. He is not rushing this time. His walk is slow, paced. His mind is clear, buzzing like the static of a television.

Its not dark yet, and he’s able to find a bench to sit on. There’s ducks waddling around the bench site. He figures people come here and feed them bread, because they are getting quite close to him, quaking expectantly. It makes him smile.

Its not long before Barry finds him and sits on the bench next to him. They both look out at the pond. Barry takes out a baggie of frozen peas from his jacket pocket and starts to absently toss them. The ducks flock towards them, quaking loudly, the only noise around them.

After a few minutes, Barry finally breaks the quiet.

 “What’s going on, man?”

Greg shuts his eyes tight and quickly wipes the stray tear that escapes.

“Rebecca – she tried to commit suicide.”

“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry, man. Did you…”

“No,” Greg cuts him off. “I wanted to. Not – not because I was craving it. It sounds crazy. But because – I didn’t want her to be alone.”

“Greg,” Barry starts, putting a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not crazy. That’s caring about someone.”

“A part of me… I think a part of me worked so hard here, started dating Emily, to somehow prove to her that I could be okay. Without her. Because she seemed so okay without me. But the longer I did it out of spite, the more it wasn’t about her anymore. It was about me. And… being happy.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about being happy.”

Greg turns to Barry, giving him a soft, sad smile. “I… I don’t know what to do. Whether I should fly out there. Or call. Or text her. I want so badly for her to know that I care about her. And I didn’t forget about her. I’m not _going_ to forget about her.”

“Wanting someone to know you care about them isn’t the same as caring about them. That sounds like a selfish impulse.”

“S…selfish? You really think so?”

“…Greg. Maybe you owe her what she gave you. Give her the opportunity to be okay without _you_.”

The two men resume sitting silently. Barry offers Greg the zip-lock baggie of peas and Greg reaches his hand in, tossing them in front of the two of them. Barry puts a tentative hand around Greg’s shoulder in a semi-hug and Greg startles, looking at his friend in shock. Barry was never a man of physical affection.

But Barry ignores him and wraps his arms around Greg. Greg buries himself in Barry’s shoulder, the affectionate notion bringing up a sob and tears into his eyes. He fights hard for a minute to stop it, but Barry keeps holding him, as if giving him permission. Greg lets a soft sob escape and finally, finally cries.

* * *

A _diagnosis._

A new diagnosis. A brand, spanking, shining new diagnosis that is going to tell her why she’s like this and how to fix it. Bingo, bango. Done.

Borderline Personality Disorder is – uh, a surprise.

Its not like they’re keeping a score sheet of all the people that sent their condolences her way after her suicide attempt. Honestly, Rebecca doesn’t even want to know, or care, who sent their empty words to her. The people that truly matter, her friends, her boss, they were all there for her. They didn’t leave her.

Severe mood swings. Profound fear of abandonment. Instability in relationships. Unstable sense of identity. Paranoia or dissociative episodes. Excessive and frequent anger. Feelings of emptiness. Impulsive behavior. Recurrent Suicide threats or attempts. Its not really about Josh. Maybe it never was.

Maybe she can be okay.

* * *

Rebecca Bunch (10:06am): holy crap, Greg, you’ll never guess who I ran into! Marty the guy who dusts potatoes AND he’s marrying that girl you told me about, Allie!

Not delivered

Rebecca Bunch (9:00pm): oooh, this is super sad. She does not love Marty. Poor guy. I’m gonna help him.

Not delivered

Rebecca Bunch: (9:23pm) ouch, he knew she was cheating on him, and he said he’ll take what he can get

Not delivered

Rebecca Bunch: (11:00pm) you know that’s not… what it was like between us, right?

Not delivered

Rebecca Bunch: (11:25pm) I miss you

Not delivered

Rebecca Bunch: (12:04am) Greg, did you block my number?

Not delivered

* * *

“You sure you wanna come to this with me? I know its weird – “

“Hey. Your dad has been sober for a month now. That’s a big deal. I want to come with you.”

Greg smiles sadly at himself. What a surprise. His dad also finally figured out that he’s an alcoholic. Its insane that he waited almost a whole month since he quit drinking to tell him, but, Greg can’t judge him. _He_ had to start the journey rocky. His dad can too.

Maybe he’ll eventually tell him what made him stop drinking. But for now, Greg isn’t going to push him. These things take time.

* * *

Greg walks in tentatively to Home Base. Emily is latched onto his arm, and she looks around in wonderment.

“This place is _hilarious._ A bar _and_ a baseball place? This place is sooo garish and tasteless. I love it.” She brings her camera up to her face and Greg nods a few times, placing his hand on the small of her back and directing her to the booth that Hector and Heather are already occupying. Greg looks around briefly, and, not seeing any familiar faces, lets his guard down.

“Emily, this is Hector, the 200th best surfer in the state. And Heather, who is apparently district manager of a bunch of Home Bases, right?”

“Well, this is my Home Base home base. Thanks for getting me this job, by the way, homie.”

Greg smiles politely and flourishes his hands, inadvertently pointing to her rapidly expanding baby bump. “….and she’s like, 6 months pregnant. With Darryl’s baby.”

Emily raises her eyebrows in concern. “… your boyfriend isn’t the father of the baby?”

Hector and Heather exchange knowing smiles.

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry, I’m a surrogate for my roommates’ boss’s baby. My roommates egg and his sperm and boom! Bun in the oven.”

“…Right.” Emily says. She points towards the restroom. “Yup.  I have to run to the restroom! Be right back.”

Heather leans in, eyes excited.

“Dude, bringing your girlfriend here? Gutsy. Especially because Rebecca and that jerk real-estate guy she’s semi-dating bang in our stock room, like, a lot. So thanks again for showing her where _that_ is.”

Greg groans and shakes his head.

“Come on, I told you, I don’t wanna hear all this Rebecca stuff… _”_ Greg adds on, “But she’s doing okay?”

“Yeah. She’s in therapy. She’s chilled out a _lot_ since giving me this egg and stopping taking all those hormones. If she wasn’t banging her co-worker who has a serious girlfriend, I’d say she’s better than ever before.” Heather says, rubbing her belly.

 “That’s horrible. The cheating thing. But hey, at least she’s happy.” Greg keeps shaking his head, but finds himself smiling unintentionally. He looks to the side and sees Emily coming back out of the bathroom, stopping intermittently to take a look at the pictures of the wall, scrunching up her face near laughter every few seconds.

“Hey, do you mind not… mentioning Rebecca around Emily? She gets really freaked since…”

“Oh since you showed up on my doorstep the day after her wedding with tacos? Yeah I got you man.”

“I sincerely can’t believe you’re acting as surrogate to an actual child. Wow. Just wow.”

Heather nods knowingly. “I know, I’m pretty amazing.”

“I sure think so,” Hector says, putting his hands over hers. Greg rolls his eyes.

“Dude, and you’ve moved out of your mom’s house and have a serious girlfriend? Proud of you man.”

Hector is beaming and saying something about ‘love conquering all’ as Emily slides back into the booth, sardonic expression on her face.

“I literally can’t believe that the toilet paper is held in _baseball mits._ This place is hilarious. Props to you, Heath.”

“Um, its Heather. Its one extra syllable. So.”

Emily squints her eyes. “Right. Heath _er_. “

“Anyway – you’ll never guess. Valencia has a _girlfriend_ now.” Heather says, pursing her lips.

Greg almost spits out his soda. “A girlfriend? Valencia? Valencia hates other women.”

“They call that internalized homophobia, compadre. Catch up.” Hector jokes.

They talk absently for about an hour. Heather and Hector tell them about Josh getting a job at Home Base briefly and trying to be a DJ currently. They talk about Beth and Valencia’s party planning business. They talk about Darryl and WhiJo breaking up. They talk about all the changes in West Covina. Greg finds himself smiling and nodding along, nostalgia creeping up and tugging at the back of his heart. Everyone in his life – they all seem so happy. Warmth spreads through his chest. Things are changing so rapidly and… and for the better. He’d never guess. As stale as West Covina always seemed to him, now it’s passing him by. What a beautiful thing.

Greg snaps out of his whimsical daydreaming as him and Emily climb into their rental and she looks at him, throwing him some judgy eyes.

“What’s up?”

“I see what you mean about things back home being complicated. Holy shit. This whole place is like a Jerry Springer show. Truly the epitome of Southern California pastiche. So trashy.”

Greg stops. What is she talking about?”

“Sure, West Covina isn’t the cultural epicenter of California, but.. its not that bad. There’s a lot of redeeming qualities.”

“Right. Right. Not saying it doesn’t. Your friends are… nice. Really cute. I love them.”

“… Thanks. What do you mean, cute?”

“No, I mean they’re – you know. Simple. Not, you know, super educated. Its quaint. But I get why you had to get out of this town now. And you had to work at that awful place? God, I’d rather die. ”

“…Right.” Irritation seethes in Greg’s chest. What does that even mean? Where does she get off calling Hector and Heather simple? And Home Base? He _is_ Home Base. Is this what he’s been… sounding like to everyone over the past few years? Greg finds himself turning the key in their rental aggressively and turns the radio on immediately, cutting off further conversation. They stay silent for the rest of their ride to their Air BnB.

Josh Wilson (6:00pm) – hey dude heard you’re in town

Josh Wilson (6:03pm) – I’m grabbing a beer with a buddy, want to join us?

“Who is that?” Emily quips, looking over his shoulder on the couch.

“White Josh. He’s inviting me to hang.”

“Haven’t you had enough of West Covina for a bit? I thought we were gonna get up early and go to the Getty before we fly out.”

“…Right. No, you’re right. “

Greg Serrano (6:10pm) – raincheck buddy. Have plans with the girlfriend

Josh Wilson (6:18pm) – bummer, bro. keep in touch


	11. Chapter 11

It blows Greg’s mind that Hector is the first one out of the four of them to get married.

He’s late for everything. He’s never been that smooth with the ladies – he had a rat tail in the 3rd grade, for Christ’s sake – and his pension to surf first, think about stingrays and rocks later, put him in last place for survivability, much less marriage.

His best bet was Chan – and, in Greg’s defense, he was right – Chan HAS been engaged not once, but twice. WhiJo, well, he never wanted to get married. And himself? Well. That seemed too far out of left field.

So when Heather hurriedly texted him to ask if he could fly out _the next day_ to Hector’s and her wedding, he was a tad flabbergasted.

First of all, flights are expensive on such short notice.

Second of all, he can’t just drop all his classes and rush to West Covina. That’s unrealistic. And its mid-November; he’s supposed to have his thesis prepared and ready to launch in January, and that gives him so, so little time to figure out _what the hell he’s going to do._

Third – he wasn’t sure if he could be in that room. With him, and WhiJo, and Hector and Valencia and Josh Chan and… Rebecca. He’s been putting in the time in therapy, forgiven Josh and Rebecca. But that was in concept. Its easy to forgive ghosts of people he hasn’t seen or spoken to in years. In person? Greg isn’t sure how he would react.

So when he finds himself booking a last minute flight and dropping almost a grand on that, a hotel, and a rental car so he could drive from LAX to West Covina all without telling his _serious, long term, LIVE IN girlfriend, idiot,_ he finds himself a little – surprised?

So what? A girl he dated for a few weeks and a life-long friend who he hasn’t talked to in almost a year and a half shouldn’t be determining when or where he goes places. Especially in his home town. Hector’s one of his _best friends._ Heather has become one of the people he’s closest to here, besides Hector and WhiJo. She even told him, when she called, that she’s cool with it if he doesn’t make it. She gets it. But Hector really wants this. So she’d like for him to come.

But her saying, ‘I get it if you don’t come’ irks Greg. Its like they think he’s been in a stasis bubble for the past year and a half and he can’t handle being around Chan or Rebecca. If anything, he’ll go just to show them how cool and collected he is.

Plus, he’s been working out. He got a new suit. He’s been getting this trendy new haircut that came with Barry’s seal of approval. He looks _good._ He feels _good._ He doubts anyone would even recognize him. Especially not Rebecca. Not that he was anticipating, or wanting, or fearing seeing Rebecca. _Would she even remember him?_

In a way, he’s hoping she’ll see him. And he doesn’t feel anything. And they depart as old friends. And he comes back to his girlfriend of a year and three months and proposes. Because that ring has been burning a hole in his jacket pocket since he’s bought it. Every time he thinks about proposing, the last time they were in West Covina runs through his head. The way Emily looked at his friends. The way she said she’s rather _die_ than work at Home Base? Its shitty, but isn’t that the way he always felt too?

So he sneaks in the back of the church towards the beginning of the ceremony. Hector sees him, thank goodness, and gave him a quick nod. He’d give anything to stand up there with WhiJo and watch one of is lifelong friends marry his ex girlfriend. _Wait. Huh._ _That seems to be a pattern._

The room stops, the music plays, and Heather enters the room. Greg keeps his eyes on Hector’s face. Even from the back, he can see Hector beaming, eyes glistening. He’s never seen Hector so happy. He watches Heather walk towards him. Place an arm through her father’s arm. She’s beautiful, too. Unapologetically beautiful. Not hiding behind a wall of sarcasm or a flat face. She’s smiling at Hector and he’s smiling at her. The love that surrounds the two of them fills the church. Huh.

Why does his chest suddenly hurt? He sees the back of Valencia’s head, laughing next to a blonde woman, hands intertwined. Father Brah officiating. He could never imagine anyone other than his high school vice-president doing any of their weddings. Including his.

He knows that Heather never wanted this. Never wanted this show. Hell, when he dated her, Heather never wanted to get married. And Hector? Commitment was like a dirty word for him. And seeing them here, next to each other, shedding those aspects of themselves so readily for love? _Holy shit._

Greg can just imagine Emily standing next to him. This would all be so gaudy to her.

“Before we begin, Heather asked a good friend who is great with words and also very proud of where she went to college,” No. _No._ “to say a little something.”

When Rebecca comes up to the podium, Greg feels all the air rush out of his lungs. He might as well have been punched in the gut. This is the first time he’s seen her since, tear stained and wild eyed, she following him to the airport.

She’s – she looks different. Her hair has gotten longer. Her voice is soft, steady, calm. She’s put on some healthy weight. And she’s smiling into the crowd. The light shines behind her, illuminating her features. She’s gotten older. He knows he has too.

“I love fairytales,” she starts. His entire chest is on fire. _He hasn’t heard her voice in so long_. “So this is from the greatest fairytale of all time – the Bible.”

Greg snorts and gets a couple of dirty looks from the patrons immediately next to him. He covers his mouth with his hand. This is _definitely_ Rebecca Bunch.

“Love is patient,”

_Rebecca coming in to Home Base, frantic and inattentive. A few weeks later, ordering another hamburger pizza, smiling widely at him with food in her mouth. Rebecca at her party, helping him off the stairs, calling him an Uber. Rebecca, hand draped over the couch, suggesting night school to him. Rebecca, backing out of that weird Western bar he would do his study drinking at. Rebecca, running to him at Home Base, earnest eyes, kissing him._

“Love is kind,”

_Rebecca, kissing him on the cheek every time she left the bedroom. Rebecca, holding up their photo booth pictures and looking at him like he’s given her the world. Rebecca, sitting down next to him at the duck pond, voice shaky, asking him if he’s had a drink._

 “Love is taking your boyfriend to the ER for his pus-y black toe”

_Rebecca in the hospital, taking his hand. So vulnerable in that moment. Him, brushing the hair out of her face._

“Love is supporting your girlfriend through her pregnancy with someone else’s baby.”

_Josh Chan looking at them through the entire wedding. Rebecca’s wrecked, hopeful face.  The sinking feeling in Greg’s chest. Ruining it all. So she can be happy._

“Love is finding your own path.”

_Rebecca looking up at him, at the airport, tearful, begging him to stay. Him saying goodbye. His heart breaking in ways that he didn’t know were possible.  The creaking of his apartment in Atlanta. The bike commute to Emory. His year-end grades, top of his class. Emily._

“When you travel that path and find the one you love,”

_Standing outside of Rebecca’s house after she’s left at the alter. Sitting at that duck pond with Barry after Rebecca tried to kill herself. Sitting in therapy, talking about her day after day. Forgiving her. Forgiving himself._

“… you should hold on tight.”

The sun hits her just perfectly, and she glows. She looks around the room and her eyes land on him. They don’t stick and Greg doesn’t see any sign of recognition on her face. But.

Greg’s entire body comes alive with energy. The tightness in his chest, the pounding in his head. Someone that cared about him, supported him through everything. Pushed him to follow his dreams. Let him find his own path. Even here, as an alcoholic bartender in West Covina. He didn’t have to be sober, and educated, and have money and she still cared about him. She grew and changed and metamorphosed into the woman, standing on this podium, so soft and calm, assured.

Greg feels like he should be panicking. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. Not after all this time. Not after all this time with Emily. Not after all this time in therapy. Not after all his time in Atlanta.

But despite his best efforts, here he is.

In West Covina. Surrounded by all the people he’s loved and left in his life. He knows it, looking at her, her presence, her aura. He had to have known this would happen. Had to have feared this would happen. But this warmth, this calm, this hasn’t touched him since he’s left. Since he last saw her. But now, suddenly, its like -

Boom.

Feelings.

* * *

He sits back in the couch next to his father, the two of them silent. Greg can hear the squawking of the macaws in the kitchen and almost laughs. His dad did the same thing to the stove at this place that he did in their old home. His excuse is that the retirement community cooks all the meals for them, one of the reasons its so expensive, but still. Ridiculous.

Marco Serrano has been uncharacteristically quiet. Has been since he’s gotten sober. Greg figures that maybe some of his personality came from being drunk constantly, but its still eerie. And irritating.

It comes as a revelation. The giant Serrano’s sign, obscuring his dad’s wall. The newspaper articles about the restaurant. His father, gleeful, standing in the front of each picture. And the man next to him, tired, sad. Bleary eyed. Like the last time he was happy was…

Of course. It makes the most sense in the world.

He has to get to work.

After sharing a quick soda with White Josh after the wedding, Greg sits in the airport at LAX.

He stares at his phone and dials Emily’s number.

“Hey – when I get back, we need to talk.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 3: Hello, Nice to Meet You**

_Is anyone we meet really that new to us? We’re all the same species that grew in a uterus. A kiss is a kiss. A face is a face. So what if we met in another time and another place?_

If that almost-kiss between her and Darryl meant anything, it was one thing. Rebecca, _in recovery for BPD post suicide attempt_ Rebecca is able to be attracted to nice guys. What a concept. A world where she can like guys who aren’t withholding, or cold, or jerks, or unavailable, or dating other people, or immoral, or married or Nathaniel or Greg or Josh.

That’s what Rebecca told Darryl. And yet. Suddenly Josh is her roommate and he’s being kind, and welcoming, and not withholding. And suddenly Nathaniel is being kind and moral. And both of them are single. And she loved both at them at some point, right?

Ok. Ok. Fine. Things didn’t work out well the last few times with either one of them. But she’s not the person she was before. And neither are they.

But, ok, if she’s honest with herself, which she always is, like, all the time now, she’s freaking out.

And Paula isn’t texting her back.

But Valencia is back in town for her high school reunion and Heather is working at Home Base tonight, so she’ll stop by there. All she has to do is leave AJ to work the counter while she makes a few dozen pretzels for the reunion, giving her a good reason to be there. Yes. And then Valencia and Heather will give her the answer she is looking for. All will be hunky dory.

She almost drops the pretzels coming in to Home Base, sliding them over a table, and runs up to Heather and Valencia, who seem to be deeply entrenched in conversation.

“Listen, guys, I need someone to talk to. Uhhh, disaster! I’m having feelings for both Nathaniel and Josh!”

Heather gasps, “What happened? Sex? Kissing? Jean jamming?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m just having those romantic trills in my head and then I shake them off, like this,” Rebecca mimics, shaking her whole body quickly in a similar fashion that a wet dog would.

 “Anyway. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Am I meant to be with Nathaniel, or Josh, or both, or neither?”

Valencia and Heather exchange knowing looks and smile a little.  “Neither,” Valencia and Heather say in unison.

Rebecca breathes in deep and starts to nod, mind already going a million miles a minute. “ Right, of course. Because the idea of “meant-to-be” is a lie perpetuated by Western culture.”

Valencia doesn’t break eye contact. “No. You’re meant to be with Greg,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Heather adds, “Wait, you think that? I _totally_ think that.”

“ _Everyone_ thinks that,” Valencia responds, smiling. “Duh.” Heather raises her eyebrows and elbows Valencia slightly, nodding towards Rebecca. Valencia jumps a little bit and closes her mouth tight. No reason for Rebecca to know why they think that. Definitely not because they’ve seen him, multiple times, over the past two years.

Rebecca looks at both of them like they’ve each grown a separate head. _Greg?_ Rebecca stops, the name plucking a heart string immediately. Greg? Gosh, when was the last time she even thought about Greg?

“Sorry,” Rebecca says, miming pulling her ear forward, “Did- did you say Greg? Greg from two years ago, who we all haven’t seen and literally never talk about, _that_ Greg? You guys, that’s insane.”

“Lest you forget, I slept. With. His. Dad.” Heather just shrugs and Valencia winces.

“Guys – I’m not in touch with Greg. Our relationship was terrible and toxic. We didn’t get along. We fought all the time. I don’t even think he thought I was pretty. I mean, he was mean to me most of the time and _hated_ himself for caring about me. And also, Greg has a serious girlfriend now, and I know that,” Rebecca whispers harshly, “Because again, I slept with his dad!!!”

Heather and Valencia nod wordlessly.

“Look… the only way. The only way. The only way Greg would ever be my “meant-to-be” is if we were in some sort of sci-fi weird parallel alternate universe where he was just a completely different person.” 

 “Greg!”

Greg?

What was that? Rebecca’s eyes bug out and her pulse skyrockets. Wait. There’s no way. There’s _no way_.  She spins around.

“Hey buddy!” WhiJo is walking up to him, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Serrano! Hey hey hey!” Hector calls out, practically jogging from across the bar.

“Oh my god!” Valencia and Heather say simultaneously. “Greg is here?”

They exchange glances again. Valencia mouths to Heather, ‘Did you know’ and Heather only mouths, ‘No,’ eyes open wide.

That guy, dressed in a button down shirt and well fitting jeans with the smoothed back hair, smiling and laughing with Hector and WhiJo? No way. That’s not Greg. She keeps her head turned, as discretely as possible, and watches the man. _No. That’s not him. That’s not Greg. She knows Greg. Knows him. And that’s not… that’s not Greg._

He looks up at and meets her eye. The immediate change in his posture, the flaring nostrils, the hands he promptly shoves into his pockets. The fact that he looks straight down and pretends that he hasn’t seen her. _Oh my god. Greg?_

“Uh, he saw me. I guess I should go over there.” Rebecca tightens her fist and takes in a deep breath, puffing up her cheeks.

“Oooh boy. This is gonna be awkward.”

* * *

“You flew out all the way from Atlanta for this? What happened, did you get kicked out of business school?” White Josh jokes, bro-hugging him.

True, Greg was just in town two weeks ago for Hector’s wedding. Before the wedding, he had no intention of going to this ridiculous, self indulgent orgy of people he sort of hoped he’d never see again. Instead, he intended to spend the first few weeks of December really trying to, A.) come up with a thesis project and B.) bring it to some kind of fruition before the holidays, Marco, Shauna, and Emily inevitably distracted him.

But now? There’s work to be done here. Its winter break, and he could stick around for the rest of the series. Of holidays.

And? WhiJo and Hector keep telling him that Chan asks, pretty regularly, why he hasn’t come back to town. He put them into kind of an awkward position. And that’s on him. The four of them have been best friends since kindergarten. And it was time to forgive him. Greg and Dr. Rachal talked about this. She gave him a pat on the shoulder and the go-ahead. _Stop avoiding things that scare you. You can’t avoid your triggers forever._

Its time to forgive Josh and come back into his life. The most organic way seemed to be – this.

This is nice. He can be here with WhiJo and Hector and Heather, Father Brah and Valencia, all at the same time, without feeling like he has to ping-pong from each of them, trying to avoid either Chan or Rebecca. _Good move, Serrano. Real mature._ He pats himself on the back mentally.

He has no way to prepare for it. Couldn’t have even imagined it. There he is, joshin’ with Hector and WhiJo, making plans for the next few weeks when he glances up to Heather and Valencia standing together. And he looks down a little bit, and that tiny person, casting him the most confused look he’s ever seen in his life, that’s – _No. It couldn’t be._

“ _Rebecca_ is here? At our high school reunion?” He says, eyes darting away from her. Too late. She caught his gaze. And now she’s… walking over.

“Yeah, she brought pretzels from her store,” WhiJo adds apologetically. Hector glares at WhiJo and mouths at him, ‘Did you know?’ and WhiJo immediately shakes his head and mouths a big ol’ ‘Noooo.’

_Okay. Put your hands in your pocket. Don’t look at her. Don’t not look at her, that’s also weird. Uh. Uh. Um._

“Hello…. Hiiiii.” they babble simultaneously. She’s wearing this uncomfortable, wide smile and Greg’s hands couldn’t be more damp if he dipped them into like, a real moist, um – place? He can’t complete his thought.

“Hector, I think we should check out the sushi bar because it is so… over there,” WhiJo says, stepping in front of Greg, giving him a knowing squeeze on the arm. _God, dude,_ Greg thinks, almost fuming, _I told you guys. Don’t tell her I’m in town. How the hell did this happen?_

“So – uh. How are ya? How have you been?” Loaded question. _Other than the suicide attempt that I didn’t see you for. Other than that. Other than Josh leaving you at the alter. Other than those two things._

“God, I don’t even know how to answer that question,” she laughs, but her expression is pained. She squints her eyes at him, and looks him up and down. Greg clenches his jaw and stays absolutely still.

“Don’t take this the wrong way…” she starts. “Good sentence opener, always leads to something great,” he quips, and she giggles. “Its funny. You are Greg. You’re funny. Um, but you seem really different. Like really different. Like….”

“Diff…rent?” he adds.

“Yeah, yeah.” She responds, nodding her head unconvinced.

“I don’t know; a lot of time has passed since we’ve last seen each other?” _Except when I saw you at Hector’s and Heather’s wedding. You looked right at me. It freaked me out and I left my serious girlfriend. That amount of time?_

Rebecca, standing in front of him, looks flabbergasted.

“So – uh, would you like to catch up? With me? In like a no drama, no yelling at each other sort of way?” Rebecca kicks herself. Really? _She’s asking an ex boyfriend that she hasn’t seen in almost two years if he wants to hang out? Really? Has she learned absolutely nothing?_

“Yeah – yeah. Lets just figure each other out again.” Greg says politely.

“Okay. Great. Yeah. Well, this is your high school re-union, so I won’t keep you. Reunite!”

Greg smiles in that familiar tight and uncomfortable fashion, shoulders an ‘okay’, and walks around Rebecca. Her face drops for a moment. _Greg?_ She follows him with her eyes. This moment didn’t seem to be grounded in reality. Rebecca might as well have stepped into a portal to another universe. She never thought she’d see him again. Even when she texted him a few months ago, none of the messages came through. No one has mentioned him to her in such a long time. They’re just… two ships that passed in the night. To see him here, again, in this bar -  Jesus.  

Greg claps his hands together and looks around the room. Yes. He’s been in therapy. He is no longer drinking. He is definitely not mad or annoyed and not going to blame his high school or his friends or his life for being unhappy. Hello, West Covina. He’s new Greg and he’s ready to take you on.

But.

The thing with seeing Rebecca. The jitteriness his body is now alive with. The familiar faces of people he doesn’t believe ever knew who he was. And, the cherry on top? Josh Chan. Coming out, as arrogant as ever, standing on top of chairs. Making speeches. Joking about winning an Oscar. That guy is such an _ass_.

Maybe all this forgiveness and seeing Chan can happen another time.

He’s gonna go.  

“Hey. I realized I hate high school reunions. Want to catch up now?”

Josh is stammering P-p-panters let’s p-p-party and Greg grits his teeth a little bit. Maybe reliving high school was not such a good idea.

“Now, now?” Rebecca asks, eyes wide. She opens her mouth a little bit and taps on Valencia’s arm, who gives her a tiny nod.

 “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go.”

Heather makes brief eye contact with Greg and he smiles at her. She opens her eyes, as if asking ‘what?’ He shrugs a little and leaves the building with Rebecca.

* * *

Ew, life. That’s so on the nose.

One minute she’s lamenting how she can’t wait to meet someone who isn’t Josh or Greg or Nathaniel. And now, here’s Greg. Two years later. _Wow._

Its _so_ on brand for Rebecca to be leaving a building with Greg minutes into seeing him. Years since they’ve seen each other and she’s already glued to him immediately. Paula called _him_ the fly and _her_ the meatball. Maybe she’s the peanut butter and he’s the roof of a mouth. The sticking is inevitable. _And you want him to eat you,_ Rebecca’s brain helpfully supplied. She cringes at herself and shakes the thought off. A good, neutral ground to bring Greg Serrano to tell him that she banged his dad?

Rebetzel’s.

“Yeah, so,” she clicks her tongue, walking over to turn on the lights, “This is my, uh, salty castle. Rebetzel’s.”

“Clever. You really twisted those two words together, huh?” He smiles at himself, like he always did when he made a joke. Rebecca lets herself giggle at the quip. He’s Greg. He’s funny.

Paula is _still_ not replying. And Valencia and Heather have to be wrong. There’s no meant to be with Greg. Paula would know. Paula would tell her what to do. They can’t just leave her to make her _own_ decisions. Rebecca _can’t_ make her own decisions.

“So, you have to work at night? Wow. The pretzel game is intense,” Greg says, walking towards her. He’s standing across the counter from her and Rebecca finds herself smiling. They’re always somehow across counters from each other. Always something separating them. Like, lets see. Almost three thousand miles. When he moved across the country to _get away from her._

Rebecca takes the flour out and gets to work. Hopefully some of this buzzing energy in her fingertips will dissipate if she works with her hands.

“So, um, this must be weird for you. Being back in town after, what? Almost two years?”

Greg pauses for a moment. “Actually, I’ve gotta confess – I’ve been back a few times.”

Rebecca’s heart drops. She’s not looking at the flour as she scoops a giant amount and dumps it haphazardly into the bowl.

“You have?” she squeaks.

 “Yeah, uh, I just thought it would be best... if you and I didn’t see each other.”

Rebecca furrows her eyebrows. What?

“So, you were back in town and no one told me?”

Rebecca makes a mental note of all the people that could have not told her. _Hector. WhiJo. If Hector knew, Heather knew. And she didn’t say anything when she was ranting about no one talking to him or seeing him in the past two years?! Darryl and WhiJo were still together so Darryl knows. Did he tell Paula? No, Paula would definitely tell Rebecca. Josh Chan? Valencia? Marco for sure didn’t tell her that night she slept with him….right. Back to that._

Greg shrugs. “Well, I may have asked them not to… I did. Yeah, I did.”

“Look, I know that things ended pretty badly between us, but I didn’t realize that you felt the need to hide from me.”

“Well, I wasn’t hiding per se, although now that I describe it, it bears many of the hallmarks of hiding.”

Rebecca can’t hide the disappointment in her face. _He had to hide from her. She was so terrible and he never wanted to see her again. He went out of his way not to see her. As if moving three thousand miles away wasn’t enough. Ouch._

“Look,” Greg explains, suddenly apologetic, “You and I had crappy stuff happen between us. A lot. But… when I saw you just now,” _Definitely not at the wedding. Definitely haven’t been thinking about this for weeks._ “I realized… we were close. We used to like each other. We were friends.” Rebecca’s face softens and she scrunches her eyebrows.

She nods repeatedly. “Yes. We were. And I would love to have that again with you. But there’s something I gotta tell you…”

“You know? Lets not do that. Lets not tell each other difficult things.” Greg’s decided that there were too many difficult things. And if they’re going to just have a few weeks, then why? Why should he confess that he showed up at her doorstep the night of her wedding? Or that he blocked her number when she called him that night? Or that he’s heard about her suicide attempt and intentionally said nothing to her? Or even the fact that he’s been back, many times, and always went out of his way to avoid her?

She looks hopeful.

“Like, pretend we’re meeting for the first time?”

“Exactly.”

“Before we start this, meeting for the first time thing, I mean. I want to say something. I’m sorry,” Rebecca says, earnestly. The first time she’s said it that he feels like she means it. An ‘I’m sorry’ that covers so much ground. Covers everything.

Greg smiles sadly. “I am, too.”

While Rebecca continues to work with the dough and Greg helps with preparing some of the topping, he tells her about Atlanta. Rebecca only has to get over that knot in her stomach, the memory of running to him in the airport, the devastation she felt to see him go, before something like pride permeates her senses.

“Yeah, so – I live in this tiny ground floor apartment that was converted from like, an old 1900s Victorian house into lofts.”

“You think it’s haunted?” Rebecca asks, laughing.

“Only one haunted entity per apartment, I’m afraid. And mine’s already taken,” he winks at Rebecca and she snort laughs.

“I’m pretty sure my place is haunted too. Like, I think a _lot_ of people died in there?”

“Yeah, the murder house? Valencia needs to burn some sage in there.”

Rebecca stops. “How did you know I live there?”

Greg opens his eyes wide. “…Hector told me. No other reason.”

They grin at each other, both laughing lightly. They’ve been laughing non-stop for almost two hours now. Rebecca lost track of time. The high school reunion must almost be over.

“Wow, we are really killing this friend thing. But sadly, I actually have to run. I gotta go see my dad.”

“Oh, your dad!”

“Yeah, my dad, Marco. Wait, do you know him? I can’t remember.”

The room stops moving. Rebecca’s mind is spinning. _Yes,_ she agrees in her head. _He totally was a terrible father. Ah, good that he’s sober now. But he wasn’t then. When I banged him. And he’s going to tell you?! Nope. Nope nope._

He looks her up and down and, tenderness in his voice, says, “See you later, Rebetzel.”

The way her heart jumps at those words only mean one thing. She swipes the braided dough off the counter and Greg immediately turns back around, quickened steps. _That same step when he came when her window was broken. He still moves the same. The same urgency. The same worry in his eyes._

“Can you help me?” she implores. Greg almost looks relieved. He goes in the back to wash his hands and Rebecca breathes in deeply.

Greg is honestly not too bad with braiding pretzels. Sure, maybe he didn’t do it in the most elegant way, but Rebecca’s into him standing shoulder to shoulder with her, his hands in her dough. Uh. _The_ dough. Not her dough. She glances up at him, catching his eye. _Cute. Incredibly cute. Funny and cute and wonderful and… not single. Right. Living in Atlanta. Double right. Literally slept with his dad. Triple right._

 “Yeah, you know… My girlfriend, well - my ex, actually - she loves to buy discount pastries. I’ve actually eaten my share of stale donuts myself.”

_Wait. What?_

“Your – hm. Did you say girlfriend, or, like, ex-girlfriend?”

“Yeah. I was dating this girl in Atlanta. She was great. Very, very cool person. But eventually I just realized… I didn’t feel the way I should.” He looks at Rebecca and gives her a sad smile. “The way I… felt in the past.”

Rebecca’s heart is racing. She looks at him, really looks at him. Yeah. Its Greg. Of course its Greg. Single Greg. Greg that keeps making her laugh. Greg that’s looking in her with such warmth she’s pretty sure she’s getting a sunburn. So different from who he was. Closer to the man she saw at the duck pond. Calm. Content. Understanding.

“Well, that’s it.” She says and nods a few times.

“Nothing more to do here, “Greg confirms. Neither one of them moves. They just stare at the braided dough, motionless. They glance at each other.

“Well, I should go.” Greg finally says. He doesn’t take his eyes off her as he backs away from the counter. He pauses for a brief second, “Wait.”

Rebecca answers quickly, eagerly, “Yes?”

“You know; I owe you a dance. When we went to that wedding together, I acted like a horse’s ass and wouldn’t even dance with you.”

“Yeah. No, that’s true. That’s very true.”

“How about you give me a second chance?”

Loaded words. Rebecca takes his hand. _Of course._

He’s looking down at her and she’s looking up at him. The same green of his eyes. A gentle smile, one that he so rarely showed her then, now just plastered unapologetically on his face. He almost looks younger than he did two years prior. Goosebumps are forming on her arms and neck, just from looking at him. She can’t stop smiling.

Its dark and they’re dancing closer and closer. The swaying has gotten slower. Rebecca places her head into the crook of Greg’s neck and she’s transported, instantly, into him. She’s spent so much time trying so hard not to think about it, but.... He still uses the same aftershave. Still has the same smell that’s so distinctly him. Still exudes an uncomfortable amount of body heat. Still has a little curl of hair that hits his ear just so. She wonders, for just a brief second, if his lips still taste the same. Now free of whiskey, she imagines a different sweetness and it makes her head spin.

No. No. She can’t. She shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. She’s not going to lie to Greg. Not now. Never again.

He’s looking at her, inches apart, and licks his lips. Her eyes are mostly closed and she’s pulling in to him, but –

“I had sex with your dad,” she blurts out. He’s still holding her hand but his expression changes from blissful to horrified in seconds.

“What?”

“It was one time… and you had just butt-dialed me – that has nothing to do with anything – and I was in a really low place, the lowest place I’d ever been in my life, but that’s not an excuse. I’m not excusing what happened.”

Greg lets go of her. He looks shell-shocked and Rebecca’s heart drops. _She ruined everything._ “I’m gonna stop dancing. I think I need to sit down. Or maybe I should stand, actually. Or, or, or, do you have alike a cot or a—like a hammock?” He’s stuttering now and slowly backing away towards the exit.

“We were in the same bar,” Rebecca continues to rant, heart in the pit of her stomach “...and he said something nice to me. And the next think I know I was in his room and there was an oxygen tank and the macaws and there was this woman, Gladys, and she was snoring in the next room because of her sleep apnea…”

“No!” Greg cuts in, “No details! Please, please. Why details?”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Just… you can yell at me. Or you can punch a wall. You can punch any wall in here. Oh god, you’re not saying anything.”

“I… I can’t believe it.” Greg almost looks tearful, though Rebecca has to be hallucinating that, right? “I can’t believe that happened. Why did you do that?”

He’s standing at the door when he turns back to her, serious expression on his face, voice now surprised. “And I can’t believe… that you told me.”

“It needed to be me,” Rebecca asserts, watching him.  “It was just the right thing to do.”

Greg pauses and puts his hand on the door. Warm air rushes into the building and he bites his lip, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “You know what? You think I’ve changed. Maybe we both have.”


	13. Chapter 13

“It happens, I guess?”

Greg takes a long drink from his straw and glares at WhiJo. “No. It does not happen. People’s dads do not go to bars and take their son’s ex-girlfriend to their 50-and-over retirement community-“

“Okay, no details, I don’t like thinking about it.” White Josh groans out.

Greg taps his fingers against the table. His brain keeps flashing back on her – this sad, resigned, pensive woman he left in that dark room in Rebetzel’s. Guilt stirs in the back on his head. If only he had answered that phone call, then maybe none of this would have ever happened. The thing with his dad. The… the suicide attempt. Greg shakes his head and tries to push that thought out, but its in the frontlines. Along with another thought. A thought of her, her laugh, her coconut shampoo, her arms around him…

“Well, good thing you only have to get past it with your dad. Right? Things are over between you and Rebecca. That ship has sailed and sunk. Right?” Even White Josh doesn’t sound confident when he’s saying it, but obviously that’s the case. Right? Its been two years, Greg reminds himself. She was literally engaged to his best friend and also sleeping with some real-estate guy for almost a year while he was dating someone else? Rebecca is just… a whirlwind of bad decisions. He can’t – he can’t fall into that again. He _won’t_ fall into that again. Right?

“Yeah, right, right, right. Obviously.” Greg says. WhiJo purses his lips and breathes in deep. _Jesus Christ, Serrano._ He thinks _. Not again._

* * *

Its arm day and he’s doing bicep curls in front of the mirror.

_Rebecca, glowing at Hector’s and Heather’s wedding. Her eyes, calm, landing on him for a spare second. Her voice, even, steady._

Its leg day and he’s doing squats. Look at him, Greg Serrano. Doing squats. Him from two years ago would have an aneurysm.

_Rebecca, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, showing him how to braid a pretzel. Elbowing him lightly when he makes a bad joke. Looking up at him like it’s the first time she’s ever seen him. Inquisitive. And beautiful._

Its core day and he’s trying to do the planking thing, his shoulders shaking underneath him.

_The soft sway of the two of them dancing. His racing heart as he looks at her. The scent of her hair. The familiarity of her hand in his. Leaning in to kiss her._

Goddammit. Greg Serrano. You are one predictable-ass motherfucker.

 _And you’re into a father-fucker_ his brain un-helpfully supplies and he takes a deep breath. He’s straight up insane. Certifiably, should be in a loony bin, insane. He’s the CEO of Dumbass Inc. He’s the hedge fund manager that invests solely in Making Bad Choices.

His gym buddy, Nathaniel, though? Doesn’t think its as crazy. And maybe he just needs that little push forward to race to her house and tell her. Its time, he figures, to start telling her how he feels. If he’s learned anything in the past two years.

 “God, I’m nervous,” he says to himself out loud. “Why am I nervous? I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t sleep with anyone’s dad. Never even met Rebecca’s dad.”

He’s about to knock on the door when Nathaniel jogs up behind him. _Oh, that’s nice, providing moral support and – Oh no._

“You’re _that_ Greg,” the blonde man says with an inkling of irritation in his voice. Greg fights the tiny twinge of satisfaction he gets from knowing Rebecca talked to this dude about him.

“And you’re that jerk real-estate guy she dated,” he responds, as quoted by Heather. “Wait, dude, didn’t you cheat one her?”

“I cheated _with_ her.” Nathaniel defends.

“That’s better?” Greg asks in bewilderment.

In that moment, they both note Rebecca coming out from her bedroom, wearing sweats and the most puzzled expression Greg has ever seen.

“What…” she starts. Another guy, bearded, follows her out, clearly with some kind of banana in his pants and… _Oh. Oh. Cool. Rebecca’s banging this random dude now. Nice. Nice._

And as if that wasn’t enough insult to injury, the front door flies open and Greg hears Josh Chan’s voice exclaiming, “I’ll protect you!”

Josh Chan. In her front door. Literally wearing mere inches of clothing over his junk. Greg’s sighs in resignation. If Barry was here, he’d use his actuary skills to calculate the probability of risky events. Greg can just imagine the man, in the back of his mind. _Rebecca fucking you over for Josh Chan? 99.87%. Dumbass._

 “You’re kidding. You’re living together?” Greg calls out, clearly crestfallen.

“Platonically!” she defends rapidly.

“I’m gonna head out,” the banana-in-pants sporting bearded guy says, and starts to head towards the door.

“Me too,” adds Nathaniel, turning away.

Greg pauses. She’s looking at him with such imploring eyes but – no.

“Also me,” Greg adds, looking more towards the ground than at her.

“What did you want to tell me?” she calls out after him.

He can’t. He can’t be here again. What is he _doing?_

* * *

Greg’s sitting across from his dad. There aren’t many people at this meeting but – a little distance seems healthy.

Greg can see it now. He almost lost it. Lost his temper. Walking into his dad’s retirement community, seeing him smoking a cigarrete despite the strict no smoking policy of the place. Him slamming the door. Marco looking up at him, incredulous.  
“Dad, did you sleep with Rebecca?” And the deer-in-the-headlights look Marco gave him. Jesus Christ. He’s seen him multiple times since it happened. Since he’s gotten sober. And he… he just didn’t tell him? What kind of father…

As Marco gets up to talk, _again,_ cutting off the pregnant woman, Greg wants to disappear into his chair. If there’s anything worse than him growing that ridiculous old man mid-life crisis ponytail is how much he’s talking about it. Greg almost preferred it those months were he refused to tell him everything. At least Greg’s dumb ass heart knew some semblance of peace.

“I came here today because uh, I did a terrible thing to my son."

“Oh no, Dad, what are you doing?"

“I want to repair our relationship. What I did to you, sleeping with you ex-girlfriend, that was – that was unforgivable. It was my rock bottom and… I’m ashamed.”

“Oh my god, Dad,” Greg starts, shaking his head as the other patrons of tonight’s AA meeting all stare straight at him, “We’ve already talked about this privately.”  
  
“We also talked about this publicly, because we talked about it last week, at our meeting.”

Guardrail stops him by the coffee station, exasperated look on his face. Greg has spent way too much time talking about Rebecca with him in this shitty room two years ago. He still knows about her. Greg shakes his head to himself. Maybe he does talk about Rebecca too much.

“Greg,” Guardrail says, interrupting Greg’s trail of thought, “if you got something to say to Rebecca, you gotta say it.” Guardrail is opening his eyes wide as if to telepathically tell Greg _Hey, remember last time you didn’t tell something to Rebecca and then you got wasted, got a DUI, and uprooted your entire life to leave the mess that you partially created behind?_

God, he’s right. Greg’s obsessed, and lamented, and kicked himself over and over and over these past two years on the what-could-have-beens.

No more what-could-have-beens. Only direct answers. Greg is now a _direct_ man.

He’s not a jealous man. That was something he’s worked on. He used to be a jealous man. That was old Greg. New Greg is self assured. New Greg knows he’s a catch. New Greg isn’t going to let the fact that Rebecca is living with Josh Chan, was intimate many times with Nathaniel who Greg knows for a fact is richer and fitter than him, and definitely still super in to her, stop him from talking to her. He’s not.

* * *

Greg Serrano (6:50pm) – you around?

Rebecca Bunch(6:52pm) – yeah, just babysitting for Darryl.

Greg Serrano (6:53pm) – can I come by for a second?

Greg Serrano (6:54pm) – is now a good time?

Rebecca Bunch (6:56pm) – Sure, come over. She’s asleep. Everything chill over here.

Rebecca grins and brings the phone to her chest. _But remember, be chill._ She remembers Heather’s words that day on her porch and shakes them off. She doesn’t need to be chill. She can be honest. She already told Greg that she banged his dad. How much worse can honesty get?

* * *

When Rebecca opens the door for him, Hebecca wailing in her arms, Greg isn’t necessarily sure what to do.

She looks absolutely wrecked and on the edge of tears and he comes inside, standing next to her as she puts Hebby into her rocker.

“Don’t worry, this is gonna stop soon,” Rebecca starts, and her pressured speech and high voice send alarm bells into Greg’s head, “Because Darryl says she barely cries, so she’ll stop soon, and then you can finally tell me what you want to tell me!”

Greg leans in closely and puts a hand over Hebby, shushing her, repeatedly and calmly. She stops crying and Rebecca looks at him, incredulous.

Rebecca is starting to talk rapidly and Greg can only watch her, gears spinning in her head to quickly to catch up.

“What do I do about the fact that this baby hates me? I knew this would happen. I knew that she would know that I’m – I’m dangerous. And destructive. I bring out the worst in her because I bring out the worst in everybody, even babies.” Rebecca looks at him, eyes hard, pleading and motions towards him standing next to Hebecca, “You left West Covina _just_ to get away from me and look how well you’re doing!”

There it is. Greg has been waiting for her to say it. Knew in his heart of hearts she thinks it. But here she is, vulnerable, tearful, frustrated and _honest._ That thing between them is now out in the open. Greg is almost grateful for it. But he doesn’t have a speech or an explanation prepared. Words are bubbling inside him…

“So clearly, everyone is better off without me! Just face it!” She exclaims, looking at him like that is the most obvious fact in the world.

Greg can’t take her talking like this about herself anymore. Knows this Rebecca. Has seen it. And has seen it in himself.

“Rebecca, _stop_. If everyone was better off without you, then why did I come here to tell you that I can’t stop thinking about you, that I miss you, and that I clearly still have feelings for you?”

She looks shocked. He shakes his head. _Come on, Harvard. You can’t be that stupid._

“You still have feelings for me?”

“Look – um. I realized how I felt about you,” a while ago, years ago, but lets not go into that, maybe not yet, “came over to tell you, and all those guys were there, and that was not enjoyable. But you know what? But I don’t care.”

She looks at him, pleadingly. Heart on her sleeve.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. So, What do you think?”

 _Last call. What will it be?_ The words echo in the back of Rebecca’s head and fireworks are threatening to make their way out of her mouth, her chest, sparks in her fingers. So much has changed. And yet, her looking up at Greg in this moment, absolutely nothing has.

“I think... that I feel the exact same way.”

They lean in at the same time this time. He takes her face into the palms of his hands, like he always did before. Her hair is longer now, but that familiar tangle of her curls is the same. Her lips, soft, mouth inviting. He feels like dissolving into her, that he physically cannot get enough closeness with her. There’s only so much he can put into a kiss. _I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you for two years. I never stopped thinking about you. Or caring about you. I never will._  

She breaks, laughter in her eyes.

“We should really get the baby out of this room.” Greg suppresses a chuckle.

“Yeah. Yeah, we should.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Something feels weird…” Rebecca starts.

Greg nods expectantly, opening his eyes wide. _Does it?_

“So, listen, you know me. I’m the first person to impulsively throw myself into into any really romantic moment but I think I gotta just take a beat and deal with the fact that  that right before you so sweetly kissed me I was in the middle of a shame spiral. I need to know that I’m not relying on your feelings for my own sense of self worth.”

“Hmm, yes, I agree. And you are very wise. And also? Samesies.”

Rebecca smiles, “Samesies?”

“Yeah. You know. Samesies. Other things going for my self-esteem other than your attention.”

“Really?” Rebecca quirks up an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He leans in to kiss her again, whispering just before getting to her mouth, “I can show you.”

Rebecca grins and leans in hard into him. He’s softer this time, but still him. Soft lips. A tiny nibble of her lower lip that makes her moan lightly against him. His hands against her, training up her spine. She places her hands on the back of his neck, gripping on to him as tight as she can. They’re on the floor before she knows it and he’s kissing her neck, the way he used to and Rebecca’s on fire. Like her body completing the puzzle after years of missing a piece. Yes. This feels right.

They’re rolling over and both of them can’t stop laughing, each movement on the floor causing a toy to squeak or light up. Rebecca is laughing as Greg starts to move

 “There’s a toy halfway up my ass,” she chokes out.

“That’s not the last time you’ll be saying that tonight,” Greg jokes and Rebecca laughs into his mouth.

Its different this time. They don’t have much time – Darryl would be back from his date any minute now – but Greg refuses to rush it.

As he takes her clothes off, she seems embarrassed, almost apologetic ‘I didn’t know and its laundry day sorry these aren’t cute’ but he cuts her off, kissing every part of her. Starting with her earlobes. Her neck, which she always liked, and clearly still does by the way she arches her back. Her breasts, somehow more voluptuous than last time. Her beautiful, soft belly. Every stretch mark, bruise, everything he can find. He pulls of her panties and she, blushing, pulls him back up, but he shakes his head and kisses her pussy, sucks on her clit for a spare moment causing her a moan, and moved on to her thighs, her legs, her knees. Every inch perfect and beautiful. When he comes back to kiss her lips, she’s looking at him with such soft eyes, searching his face, almost tearful. Its her. Its _her._

Its gentle. Maybe not as acrobatic as it was before. But he’s flush with her body, every movement synched between them. Her intertwines his hands with hers and she almost looks shocked before pleasure takes over and she closes her eyes tight and he quickens the pace. He looks her in the eyes the whole time, trying to say things, apologize for thinks, let her know things in each movement that he didn’t have the words for yet. She responds appropriately, gripping on to his back, wrapping her legs around the small of his back. Calling out his name.

* * *

They’re wrapped in Darryl’s blankets from the couch. He uses his thumb to stroke her face and continues to look into her eyes. Green. Endless, emerald green. Unlike anything he’s ever seen. Her soft lips. The scent of her hair. She’s looking right back, searching, scanning across his face like she’s trying to commit it to memory.

She’s the first to break the silence between them.

“Hey, if we’re going to do this, I need to tell you something. I – I – in college, there was this professor that I was having an affair with. And he dumped me. So I tried to set his apartment on fire. And – and he got a restraining order against me. And they sent me to a psychiatric hospital. So – so. I’m. I’m not necessarily, like, the healthiest and best person to get into a relationship with.”

Greg shrugs.  
“Cool, that’s horrifying. One time I got so drunk on a flight from LAX to New Orleans in anticipation of Mardi Gras during college that I blacked out, knocked on the cockpit and insisted that I’ll fly the plane. We had to emergency land. I was briefly arrested. So now I’m banned from Southwest.”

“Huh. We both caused an emergency airplane landing. Peas in a pod?”

“Nothing brings two people together like aviation-themed crime.”

“Why are you being so nice about this?”

“Hey, look. We both did terrible, embarrassing, life-altering things. I’m not going to hold that against you any more than you’re going to hold never being able to fly Southwest again while we’re together against me. I hope. Right?”

“Greg…” she puts a hand on his shoulder. “Of course not. I just...I don’t want to mess things up. I still have a teeny, tiny tendency to mess things up.”

“So what? We both do. Everyone does.”

“So you think we can do this? Start again for the…

“80tth time?”

 “Unless- uh. You wanna keep this light and polite?”

Greg dramatically leans his head against the floor, shuts his eyes tight, and shakes his head.

“Rebecca, come on. You know I never meant that.”

“I don’t. Tell me about it.” She’s clearly messing with him, sly smile spread over her face.

“Rebecca Bunch, if you had me back then I’d have you walking down the isle in two weeks time. I was crazy about you. I was just being an insecure jackass. But – we’re not kids anymore. I don’t want anything light and polite. I want, like, commitment. And communication.”

“Mmmm, sounds sexy, keep talking,” Rebecca lands a peck on his lips.

“Mutual respect… understanding each other boundaries…” he continues, lowering his voice and moving closer to her face.

“Mmmm. Oooh yeah. Give it to me…”

He’s about to lean in to kiss her again when their moment is broken by Hebby crying in the next room. He signs, leans his forehead against Rebecca’s.

“I’ll get her.”

Rebecca furrows her brows in though.

“No – no. Let me get her.” Rebecca gives Greg a small kiss on the tip of his nose, and gets up. She looks back at him, almost bewildered, as she goes to Hebby’s room.

_Greg._

* * *

He’s imagined this so many times. What the next time would be like. If there ever was a next time. If, by some crazy coincidence, she ended up back in his arms. But this was… better than anything he could have expected. Like their bodies never feel apart in the first place. Like this was simply the natural progression of where they left off two years ago.

And that feeling, in his chest, as he watches that woman walk towards the baby she, wildly enough, contributed half of her genetic code to? He couldn’t explain it. Hasn’t felt it, perhaps in his life. Even more so, seeing her, holding this child, rocking gently, making small patterns on the baby’s hand with her fingers, face peaceful and loving?

His entire body comes alive with something akin to hope. His entire future, boundless, beautiful, flashes before his eyes. He almost wants to swallow that feeling down. How long has it been since he even allowed himself to… to hope for something like this? To dream of something like this? Of a family… with someone. With her.

That said - He should definitely offer to wash some of those floor toys.

* * *

Rebecca takes a sip of her wine and almost looks past Paula, her heart filling with warmth. Her head is clear for the first time in a long time. No romantic trills. No flashbacks to life with Nathaniel or Josh. No ping-ponging of feelings. Everything makes perfect sense.

_Greg makes me feel like I’m okay… because he’s so much more okay. Its different this time, Paula. Maybe we can be the best versions of ourselves, together._

* * *

Greg admits that, while he is the one that said the whole, ‘Since you’re in treatment, and I’m in recovery, we should take things slow’ thing.

But maybe he isn’t listening to his own advice.

Listen. He’s done this before. He’s regretted it all about a million times. So. This time? He’s throwing himself in head first. No more games. No more trying to act cool so she doesn’t leave him. He’s only in town for the next two months and its all hands on deck. Rebecca is going to be treated like the wonderful, beautiful, life changing person she is. And he isn’t going to mess it up this time.

Showing affection 101.

Tell her you like her. Tell her she’s pretty. Visit her at her pretzel shop even though you just saw her an hour ago. Circle the same block with her for the millionth time. Let her look into your eyes for twenty minutes straight, even though it got weird after the first three. Make her happy. Do anything for her. Even if Josh Chan is sitting approximately twenty feet away from them, at all times, wearing nothing but those man panties. Come _on._

* * *

They’re both laying down in Rebecca’s bed, him reading and her doing something on her laptop when she turns to him, inquisitive.

“Hey, about the… me calling you before me and your dad, hmm’ed, you know…”

“God, can you – can you stop bringing it up?”

“You butt dialed me, and I called you back. But you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah – I - I know. I was… I was with my girlfriend. And she had just forgiven me for… going to your house, the night of your and Josh’s wedding. So I ignored the call. And I… blocked your number. Rebecca, if I had known – how hard things were, if I could have prevented any of this from happening, I would have. I would have done anything. Moved heaven and earth for you.”

Rebecca sets her laptop aside and sits straight up, concern spread on her face.

“What – what do you mean, you went to my house after Josh left me at the alter?”

Greg flinches and sets his book to the side, sitting up to, taking her hand in his.

“Rebecca – look. The truth is, I was in town for the holidays with my girlfriend. Hector called me about it. And I – I… I don’t know what came over me. I went to your house that night. Heather told me that you hadn’t come home. So, I left.”

“What?! Heather knew and she didn’t tell me?!”

Greg sighs.

“She... probably did the right thing. I wasn’t ready to see you then. And seeing me sounds like it would have made things even worse for you. So. So…”

“You really still cared about me all that time, huh? After everything?” Rebecca’s tone is almost apologetic and Greg gives her a sad, understanding smile.  

“Rebecca – I freaked out when I got the wedding invite in the mail, sure, but… but I was never mad at you. And never stopped caring about you.”

“Right,” Rebecca bites her lip and places a hand on his shoulders.

“I knew… sending you that invite was wrong. I just… I just wanted to see you.”

“Hey – its okay.” He squeezes her hand three times and looks her in the eyes.

“I don’t care. It makes me happy that you missed me, sure, but – but it was a hard time for both of us. Okay? And I’m glad we made it through. I’m glad we’re here.”

“Me too.”

* * *

Greg is shampooing his hair, picking up some of Josh’s hair products and scrutinizing them, when someone enters the bathroom. He stops and instinctively covers his junk.

“Hello? Josh, if that’s you – “

“Its me.” He hears Rebecca say in a tiny voice. The bathroom door locks.

“Oh. Great. Okay. You need to brush your teeth or something?” Greg responds, still cautious but now returning to shampooing his hair.

She doesn’t respond for a while on the other side of the shower curtain.

“…Do you mind if I join you?” she finally asks, trepidation in her voice.

Greg’s pulse immediately shoots up and he feels his dick twitch in excitement.

“Join me? Like in the shower?”

“Yeah.”

Greg steadies his voice. “Um – yeah. Yeah. Sure. Its your shower. You can – uhm. Do whatever you’d like.”

He hears rustling before she pulls the shower curtain back, stepping cautiously. He’s never seen Rebecca like this and turns away impulsively.

“S… so can I hand you the… the shampoo, or body wash –“

Before he can finish his sentence, her mouth is on his, her hands in his hair, breasts rubbing against his chest. He takes a second to process but his hands do the thinking for him and he grabs her by the waist, pressing her towards him until both of them are getting sprinkled by the warm show water. Wordlessly and with lidded eyes, Rebecca looks up at him, licks her lips and gets on her knees. He tries to pull her back up, shaking his head but she’s a woman with a purpose and her hands are wrapped around her dick in seconds, sending bolts up lightning up his back. He’s instantaneously hard and he looks away from her, almost embarrassed at her assertiveness. She, however, doesn’t shy away. She’s looking straight up at him, first stroking him with just her hand, eliciting whimpers from him. As soon as his legs start to shake and Greg doesn’t think he can take it anymore, she wraps her beautiful pink lips around his cock and takes him in deep. She works her tongue around the head expertly, finding a regular rhythm, making his brain go completely blank and setting his entire body on fire. He’s lightheaded, shaking, almost heady to cum when he hears a small – _pop_ – and she stops sucking on him, instead just looks straight up at him, mischievously. It’s the dirtiest goddamn thing Greg has every seen and he’s dying to touch her.

He pulls her up and her eyes pupils are blows, hungry, and she licks her lips and she traces a finger down his chest. She grins as he takes her by the hips and turns her around, until he’s behind her and she’s against a wall. She places her foot on the bathtub rim and pushes her bottom towards him. He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He places one hand over hers, for balance, and guides his cock into her warm, inviting pussy, almost collapsing at the sensation. He groans a little, drags his teeth across her shoulder and stars thrusting into her, her breathing out heavily.

“I can tell you’ve been with someone else,” she whispers as he thrusts into her, moving back into him, taking her own hand and touching her clit.  

“You jealous?” He growls in her ear and she arches her neck back, breathing out deeply. He thrusts a little harder now, feeling her body shake under his hands.

“If it makes you feel better,” he grips her hand tighter, thrusting deeper,

“I thought about you,” he takes his spare hand and squeezes on of her nipples between his fingers, eliciting a small gasp,

“A lot.” Her legs are shaking and she bites into her own hand to stifle her moans. He can’t stop himself after seeing her so wrecked so he comes too.

She slips onto the floor, puddle like, satisfied smile on her face.

“Hmm, okay, now that we did that… Can you hand me the body wash?”

* * *

Despite it being the middle of the winter, the park hasn’t changed much. If anything, there’s more water under the bridge. The grass is greener. On this beautiful day, joggers and families surround them. They’re not the only couple here, walking side by side, but they might as well be. He’s holding Rebecca’s hand and her arm is intertwined with his. She’s smiling happily, leaning her head against his shoulder and they stay silent, keeping an easy pace around the park. They stop at the bridge.

“You remember? Last time we were here?” Rebecca asks, squeezing his hand.

“Our fateless, coincidental meeting? How could I forget?”

“…Also where you stood me up.” She reminds him, a twinge of bitterness in her voice.

Greg looks at her and the slight dimming of her expression and sighs.

“Look, Rebecca - Can I be honest? I actually came, that day. You had that nice white dress on. You looked excited to see me. I was – I wanted so badly to be with you. You – you have to know that. More than anything. But – but I was an insecure, scared, mess of a man. And you – you didn’t want to be with me either. I was a placeholder then.”

“Greg – I hate that I ever made you feel like… like you were second choice, or a placeholder for Josh. You weren’t. I just – I couldn’t process something real like that. At that time. It scared me. It was just easier to get lost in the fantasy.”

Rebecca leans up to him. They stand over the bridge. He grips her by her face and softly, intimately, kisses her lips. She deepens the kiss and he brings her in close. Nothing hurried this time. Nothing said or unsaid. An honest, beautiful, tender kiss between two people on a scenic bridge.

As it should be.

* * *

“So… we’ve been dating for a few weeks now. I am new Rebecca. You are new Greg. We have been taking it slow in a really mature way…”

Greg scrunches his nose. _Really? We’ve literally spend the last two weeks together every single night and day. But go on._

“Okay, so we’ve been having so much fun together that I was thinking we could have more fun at the most romantic place on earth!”

“Paris?”

“Raging Waters!”

 _Oh._ Greg’s stomach drops.

Greg knows this day is going to go badly. Feels the tingle of it on the back of his spine as she hurries ahead of him, pointing to every which slide, laughing maniacally as kids spray them with water guns, so radiant and bouncing. To Greg, it feels so reminiscent of the wedding that it scares him. _This isn’t based on reality. Her expectation of this… aren’t based on reality. Right?_

But he tries not to be a dick about it this time.

He offers to walk her to rides, hang out while she rides, take exit photos of her leaving the ride. He’d even let her describe the whole ride experience and smile at every adjective. But her disappointment mounts and its hard to ignore. 

She clearly didn’t hear what he says about love conquering all.

Because love does conquer all, as much as he hates it. Its true. He doesn’t want to hate things when he’s with her. She’s such a bright, shining beacon of life and energy and it makes him want to try. To give her back some of that. To find that joy. But he’s not there yet. He wants to be there. But he feels the tension between them mount and as he’s dropping her off at her place he know... he has to go. He can’t do this. He doesn’t want to fight with her.

“Look, its been a long day and I don’t know if I’m in the mood to see the hairs on top of Josh’s pubic mons.”

Rebecca recoils. “All right, wow…you’re in a really bad mood. I mean, you just used the word pubic mons, which I’ve never heard anyone use out loud. ”

“Look, you’re upset, I see that. But did you not hear anything I said at the water park? I said love conquers all…”

“You know; you know what? I just don’t think you meant it. I can tell. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m an idiot and I’m annoying.” Her tone is harsh and she’s got her chest puffed up in aggression. Greg pauses. This isn’t Rebecca. Something is wrong.  

“Hey, have you changed anything recently? A different therapy thing? Have you been doing your stuff? I know if I miss any of my meetings, I start taking things too personally and overreacting.”

 _Wrong thing to say._ She’s furious with him, immediately, harshness from her that he’s never heard before. She’s looking at him like he’s the worst person in her life and it makes him want to shrink himself and hide. He… he knows about this. Learned about it in therapy. And he cant – shouldn’t antagonize her, although a big part of him wants to hold her, and talk to her, and make things right. But.

“I want to help you, but, it just seems to me that you need to be angry and sad right now.”

So he leaves. He has to. Sometimes, he has to leave.

“Leaving, great. Classic Greg move. You love doing that. Hey, I found something you like!”

He flinches as he hears Rebecca call out to him. _So much for growth and forgiveness. Its like nothing has changed._

* * *

Two steps forward, five steps back.

She swore to herself she wouldn’t mess things up with Greg this time. She swore. But, god, he’s just being such a dick, and he hates everything, and he _hates_ her. So she takes a shot, and then a few more shots, and tries to find a way to make herself feel wanted again.

Rebecca ends up falling asleep on the bench outside of Dr. Shin’s office. Letting go of the warm embrace of the darkness. Of the comfort of her self hatred, and bad decisions, and emptiness in her heart. She shakes her head at herself, disappointment flooding her mind. _Well, Rebecca. You’ve done it now._  She stopped doing any of the work she’s been needing to do. Got so lost in Greg that she forgot. She was just _so happy_ for a second.

“God, I acted like such a horrible bitch to Greg yesterday. What do I say? What do I do?”

“You know how to do this. You know how to take responsibility for your actions.” Rebecca nods. That evening, next to her unopened bottle of pills, she takes out her phone. _For the slightest chance at hove, I’d gladly tear my life apart._ The words ring in the back of her head, so familiar. But she’s not going to tear Greg’s life apart. No. She can’t this time. She’s not going to hurt him ever again.

Rebecca Bunch (9:45pm) : Greg, I’m sorry. You were right. I need a second. Talk soon.  


	15. Chapter 15

Its been… a rough day. After the exposure to the squirrel flu and literally getting kicked in the chest by Josh Chan, one of the last thing he wants to do is be here, at her house. But they need to talk. They’ve been needing to talk. And, if the vibe from Josh and Nathaniel meant anything, they needed to talk about a lot.

He can see through the window that she’s hugging Josh and knocks. He surprises himself at the calm in his heart. No jealous rage. No ill will. Just… just sadness. Greg knows whats coming and its breaking his heart even before Rebecca starts to talk.

“Hey… you were right,” she starts, and he nods with acceptance. “I…Started doing the work again. And… I’m finally on meds.”

Which is hard, Greg realizes. He hated getting on them too. Hated having to need something to feel better. But he has to say – if anything, the meds did help calm him. Helped process things a bit better. And Rebecca deserves the same. She does.  

She continues, voice shaking, and Greg sees it from a mile away.

“And so, after we fought, I felt very abandoned, which is a major trigger for me, and then I got really drunk… and then kinda went to Nathaniel’s apartments and had a kinda weird massage moment with Josh. Nothing happened, but yeah.”

 _There it is._ Greg shakes his head a little.

“Rebecca… come on.”

He’s looking at her with such a sad, disappointed expression and her heart is aching. But she has to do this. Has to tell him. She… she can’t put him through this anymore.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. And look, I just… we started dating, I got really behind on my mental health stuff, and that’s on me - that’s not on you. And I think I just need to take a beat now before I get into anything serious.”

“Yeah, I would say so. Wow.”

“But I still really care about you. Like so much.” Rebecca feels her own heart breaking, watching him. She deserves this. She feels like she deserves it but it tears her apart. She almost wishes he’d get angry. But he just smiles at her sadly.

“Me too.”

“I don’t know. Friends?”

“Okay, yeah. Probably for the best.”

Rebecca watches him leave. She couldn’t love him in the way he deserved. But… but she can’t lose him from her life again. At least… at least this was something. This has to be enough.

* * *

Greg’s gotten way off course. Yes. He’s here to do his thesis. And Serrano’s has been gathering dust for close to a decade.

And as the assistant manager to many Home Base’s, Heather was more than ready to help. It was kinda nice. Greg forgot how fun his dynamic with her was. Plus, he hasn’t really seen her much since her wedding.

But she comes in guns blazing, no bullshit attitude, which is very her.

“So…. Why are you doing your thesis here, and not in Atlanta?” Heather asks, lifting some of the plastic wrap draped over the old leather booths to see whats underneath.

Greg is messing with the boxes labeled ‘stuff,’ and ‘things,’ looking for examples of previous menus. Wow. His dad truly is the worst businessman of all time.

Greg almost stutters over his answer.

“Access to a free restaurant and my professor is a sucker for family businesses. Those are the reasons. “

Heather scrunches her nose.

“Hmm, I don’t buy it. I think you’re doing it to be near Rebecca. You have to remember that _I know you._ My cousin said there was some love-sick idiot staring up at Rebecca at the back of the church with cartoon hearts floating around his head. I kind of deduced it was you.”

“Hmmm. What? I – no. No, no. You’re insane. We had a little fling. We got the thing we were doing two years ago out of our systems. And now its over. And everyone is over it. Especially me.”

Heather nods her head, pursing her lips.

“Oh…ooo-kay. Uhuh.” Heather rolls her eyes.

“Hey, so what ever happened with Emily?” Heather asks. “I didn’t ask because she was kinda a bitch and I’m glad you two aren’t together, but, what’s the haps?”

Greg shakes his head and smiles, giving Heather a stern look.

“She wasn’t – she’s. She’s about to graduate with her PhD in a few months. And got a teaching position at Cornell. And she… she wanted me to come with her.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I was going to. I… I bought a ring. And then I came to your wedding…”

“And you saw Rebecca? Dude, totes romantic.”

“No – I mean, yes, but also. No. I saw – the love that you and Hector have for each other. And this building filled with the most important people in my life. And I imagined that dark world of academia where if things aren’t pretentious, they’re bad, like for Emily. And it felt… joyless. And sad. So. I left her. And then. I came here. And. She’s probably moved out now.”

“How did she take it?”

“Well. Much like… much like you, she’s under the impression I came here to be near Rebecca again. Which I didn’t. That would be a huge waste of… time. And emotional energy. So.”

“So she hates you?”

“Yeah, she hates me. Yup.”

“Right on, dude.” Heather puts out her fist and he tentatively fist bumps her as they continue to work.

* * *

The family photos – generations, on the walls.

The leather re-upholstered booths. The red and white checkerboard table linens. The flowers. Greg almost feels like he walked into the past, him, seventeen years old, coming to the restaurant after school to work. Finding his dad, passed out in one of the booths. Moving him to the back. Cleaning up. All before dinner rush. Sadness and excitement mixed together. With this soft opening, maybe he can relive that. Just for a day.

But then – two people show up. Then two more. Then a ten top. And the restaurant is full before they’re even open and Greg’s mind is racing. Unbelievable. Something like pride permeates every inch of his being and he can’t stop smiling, running from table to table, welcoming people. Some people recognize him, shake his hand.

“You’re Serrano’s boy. You run this place now? Good work…”

Greg is too sheepish and embarrassed to correct them. Its just a thesis. Its just a soft opening. After tonight… all this will go back to gathering dust. The thought of that… is unsettling. _Huh._

“I cannot believe it,” Greg says, counting through all the tabs. Heather is sitting across from him, counting her tips, large wad of cash in her hands. “If this was a real opening, we would have done huge numbers! Its like… people actually like this place.”

Heather looks up from counting her money and clicks her tongue.

“Dude, you don’t get it… they always did. Its just when your father ran this place, he was a drunk and a terrible business man and ran it into the ground.”

Greg recoils. “No, this place failed because West Covina turned their back on this restaurant.”

But maybe West Covina didn’t turn it’s back on this restaurant. Maybe West Covina didn’t turn its back on him, either. His stomach is warm. Holy shit. Wow. He’s _home._ The realization hits him like a truck. This is the first time in years, maybe all his life, that he feels at _home._

Heather watches him undergo this transformation in his thoughts, and, ever the profound wordsmith, tells him softly, “Maybe now you’re ready for this town. Its always been ready for you.”

* * *

Greg’s cleaning off the menus the next morning when Rebecca walks through the front door. Her face is immediately gleeful, and she looks around the restaurant with a large smile on her face. She catches his eye and grins widely.

“Oh my god, Greg, this looks amazing.”

He finds himself a little embarrassed and shrugs his shoulder, looking towards the ground.

“Yeah. Thanks. I – I uh. I’m sorry I missed your theater thing. How was it?”

“Oh, it was terrible. I got yelled at, I got called an idiot and then I got fired.”

“Wow, that sucks. “

“But – but look at you. You’re glowing! I’ve never seen you so happy…”

“Yeah, yeah. I feel pretty good. And…And I..um, I decided I’m gonna stay in town and really open this place. Try to make it work.”

“Wow… You’re choosing to stay in West Covina. By choice?”

“Yes. And when I made that decision I had to ask myself, was it because of you or because of this place?”

“Because of me? Why because of me?”

“Because I still care about you. And maybe I did choose to do my thesis here to be near you. But now, I really – I love this restaurant.

“Good, good good. That is – That’s good. That’s good. Its great.”

As Greg runs to the back to grab some lasagna for Rebecca to try, she looks around the restaurant, a fluttering feeling filling her chest. It was… beautiful. God. And Greg looks so proud, and so happy. She couldn’t imagine the man she met three years ago like this. This hard work. This dedication. _And don’t forget, he just admitted that he came here to see you again,_ her brain un-helpfully supplied. She swats the thoughts away. Maybe… maybe its not really about romantic love at all. She looks at him and only feels joy.

* * *

Greg stares down at his coffee cup, pensive while WhiJo stares at him.

“Can I ask you something?” He finally asks. “You and Darryl, are you really happy just being friends, or do you hold out hope that one day you’ll get back together?”

“No, no, we’re really just happy being friends,” WhiJo assures him.

“Okay, good. Um, alright. Maybe that’s what I have with Rebecca, then.”

WhiJo is already shaking his head. “- Oop! Didn’t let me finish. Darryl and I are happy just being friends because we really ultimately didn’t work as a couple, and we really are happy with other people. But you and Rebecca seem different.”

“Different? How?”

“Oh God, don’t make me say it.”

Greg wrings his hands expectantly and subtly nods his head, enticing White Josh to continue.

“Dude, I have known you for most of your life… and I’ve never seen you as happy as you are when you’re with Rebecca. Even though I am truly, deeply perplexed as to how not only you, but two other guys, could be so into her. Truly one of the great puzzlements of the ages. “ WhiJo takes a long sip of his bubbly water and shakes his head, looking somewhere behind Greg’s head. He softens his expression and directs his attention back to Greg.

“But… you guys seem like you have something special. So – I don’t know. I think you gotta give it a shot.”

Greg draws back.  

“How do I do that?”

* * *

This is a disaster from the get go. Definitely something that Greg Serrano should never had agreed to. How is it possible that after all this growth, he’s back here _again._ Competing with two other people for Rebecca’s affection. Its just... its too much.

How he got swindled into making a bunch of salmon and then getting a suspiciously cheap hot air balloon, he’ll never know. And being told regularly that he’s got some stiff competition? Its insane. Rebecca isn’t a prize to be won. And he’s… he can’t compete. All he has is how he feels. No money. No rock hard bod. No ‘chemistry off the charts’ or ‘understands my inner child’ that Rebecca includes on the columns. But she does include ‘seems to understand me in some profound way,’ which gives Greg a little tickle of pride. She’s right. At least, he thinks he understands her. Because whats happening now? The Rebecca he knows would never _want_ this. Maybe she would have wanted this three years ago, but, now? Well. Maybe he’s wrong about her.

 “I used to feel so confident about Rebecca but this week I’ve just been steaming a whole bunch of fish and agreeing to sail over the Temecula Valley in a stripy balloon.” He admits, messing with his bowtie in Serrano’s, Hector standing next to him.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Hector asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m having second thoughts. But still gonna do it.”

And, really, its just his luck. Greg is not a man that believes in signs, never did, but come _on._ He’s trying to do this terrible, cringey thing to prove to the girl he loves that he loves her in a comparable stature to two other dudes, which is awful enough as it is, but now his piece of shit car won’t start. Of course Of course it won’t, because why would anything good happen to Greg?

His heart drops as he hears her voice. _Really? Universe? We’re doing this today?_ Rebecca is going to just randomly run into him on the side of a street. Ew, life. That’s way too on the nose.

“Greg? Wow. So – what’s, um, what’s happening here?”

“Well, in order of importance. I’m wearing a real uncomfortable tuxedo, I possibly just split my pants, and my crappy car won’t start. How about you?”

“About the same,” she shrugs, giving him a sad smile.

“Lets get you to the shop,” she adds.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

* * *

 

He plops down in the chair next to Rebecca, jacket and bowtie off.

“Well, its gonna take a long time to fix it. Something about the trans—carburetor. I’m being lied to and its going to be very expensive.”

Rebecca laughs.

“And, our date is already ruined because we’re gonna miss our start time for our takeoff, so…”

Rebecca squints at him and Greg shrugs, trying to explain with his hands. But, honestly? Its been a long, emotionally exhausting day and… this is Rebecca. He can tell her the truth.

“Hey, can I be honest with you? I’ve been dreading this whole thing. Not being with you… That part I love. Just, the date I had planned? Its so not me. Its very Bernie.”

Rebecca opens her eyes wide and starts nodding her head along in agreement.

“I gotta tell you something… when I ran into you, I was literally seconds away from texting you and cancelling the date. Not because I don’t like spending time with you, but I just… all these dates, its just so exhausting. Its just so much pressure.”

Relief floods Greg’s face and he feels himself smile.

“Right. So this date is off?”

“Looks like it.”

They both let out a sign of upmost relief and look back at each other, easy smiles on their faces.

“Well, if you’re gonna be here for the next few hours, I’ll just wait with you.” Rebecca says, tapping his leg.

“Really? You would do that?”

“Yeah. I got nothing to do. I just found out my date cancelled,” she responds, giving him a little wink. He can’t help but shake his head and smile at her.  

“Hey, so, uh did you eat yet?”

“No, I was waiting for you to eat but I would eat now. Do you wanna go somewhere?”

“No, I feel more like ordering.”

“Ooh, I would do that.”

They talk about the foods they would want, going back and forth. They keep getting closer, her arm on his, knees touching. Just a few years ago, a million miles away, a million lifetimes ago, she sat next to him at that duck pond, unable to reach him, to touch him. But here, so comfortable, she places her hands on his. So much more natural than keeping space between them. And they just laugh. Effortlessly, easily, they laugh.

She pulls out her phone to see if that new taco place on East Cameron delivers and Greg leans back and looks at her. _Huh._

She’s so beautiful. He’s overwhelmed with it. Always thought it. Always felt it. But now, the feeling spreads to from his chest to his stomach to his head. The intonation of her voice. The touch of her hand. The way she looks at him, like they can speak without having to speak. _Of course_. She’s teasing him now about the way he orders food and he realizes the thing he has always known. The comfort, the intimacy he feels with Rebecca. Its not the fireworks of a new relationship. Its not the old understanding of established friendship. Being with her was more than the mix of the two, too. A whole new ballgame. This is just them. Greg and Rebecca. She’s his other half.

 _Holy shit._ He loves her. He’s in love with her.

 “Hey,” he whispers. She looks away from her phone to him.

His voice is gentle and he looks her in the eyes. She stops ordering and sits up a little straighter, her heart jumping in her chest.

“You’re the love of my life.” Sincere, honest. The truth. The truth he’s known. The truth he’s always known since this girl, wide eyed, shook up everything he’s ever believed in.

“You know that, right?”

 “Well. I do now.” Rebecca whispers.


	16. Chapter 16

She can see it. Clear as day. She’s dancing next to Greg in Serrano’s. He’s sticking out his tongue at her and she’s bumping into him. They can’t stop laughing. Of course, its Greg. And then, the empty look in her eyes. _Wait._

Ah, yes. Well, if its not Greg, which is pretty ridiculous, then its Nathaniel. Of course. She’s pregnant with his baby. He loves her. They seem happy. But then the same vacant look in her eyes. _Wait._

Well, obviously, we should have started with Josh. They have two beautiful children, he’s a doting father and they seem so happy. Same vacant look. _Wait._

Bride Rebecca says, of course, theres nothing wrong with any of them. She just doesn’t know who she is. Real Rebecca can’t argue with that.

* * *

She sits across from him at Serrano’s and takes his hand. She looks at him the way he looked at her in the autoshop, but Greg can feel that her words will be different than his. And, that’s okay.

“…I want you to know why I am doing this – I want you to know the choice I’m making. I know it sounds crazy. Writing down the flights of fancy in my head. You know, what even is that? But, Greg, I’ve been doing it for the past couple of hours, and… This is what I need to do.”

“And you need to do this alone?” he asks, imploring.

“Yeah. I think that’s how this works. And I don’t know how long its gonna take.”

Right. Two ships pass in the night. And that’s okay. Greg can feel the energy bouncing off her. The passion. The revelation. Remembers it when he saw Serrano’s sign after seeing Rebecca at the wedding. And he can’t fault her for that. No matter how much it breaks his heart.

“Okay. I hear you, Rebecca. You just gotta know that, I’m not gonna wait. Not anymore. “

“I know. “

* * *

He turns away from her, bag in his hand, pauses and turns back to Rebecca. She’s keeping her face even. If this is how he remembers her, for however long he’s gone for, then let it be with a smile on her face. She upturns her lips and tries her best to  keep the tears from spilling from the corners of her eyes.

This is different from last time. In so many ways. He doesn’t make a grandiose show of it. Everyone knew that he was going back to school after the holidays. And that he would be back in a few months. For a grand opening of Serrano’s.

When Rebecca told him her decision, hands over his, face so mournful and apologetic he almost felt guilty for putting her in this position, she immediately insisted on driving him to the airport the next day.

How she managed to get out of her songwriting fugue, get into a car, drive to WhiJo’s place, and make small talk with him on the hour-long drive to the airport, Greg will never know.

But she clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. Barely even looks at him on the drive over and blasts radio music, even when the stations cut out as they sit on the highway.

Greg doesn’t mind it so much, though. He likes the quiet. And he likes looking at Rebecca’s face, the curve of her lips, the tapping of her fingers against the steering wheel. She knows how he feels now. He doesn’t have to steal quick glances, put on an air of indifference, ignore her or jab at her to protect his own feelings. Everything’s out in the open. She’s the love of his life.

The fact that she didn’t reciprocate those words in that garage was only a tiny kick to the chest. But it was better than not telling her, like last time. _Never again_ Greg assures himself.  

Rebecca’s face stays as neutral as it can as she parks her car and they both start to walk towards the terminal. He catches her face contort from eyes shut tight, mouth open, to sad, doe eyes staring off into the distance, to sad, pleading head shaking, all while walking next to him, but definitely not _at_ him.

“Well. This is where I go.” Greg says, forming a straight line with him mouth and nodding.

“Okay.” Rebecca squeaks out, barely audible. Neither one of them moves.

“Okay.” Greg replies, and after a few more seconds, grabs the handle of his rolling bag and starts to head for the escalator.

“Wait – Greg!” She grabs at him before he fully turns around, and he faces her. She looks distressed. He has to fight every impulse to grab her into a hug, whisper that everything will be okay, and to cheer her on. Instead, he looks at her patiently, gently. She has to say something.

“You know – you _know_ that if it was going to be anybody, it would be you, right?”

Greg shares a sad half-smile with her. “I do now.”

Rebecca looks devastated and on the edge of keeping it together. She keeps her hands gripping at his jacket and doesn’t let go, even when he motions that, hey, he should probably get going.

“Greg – I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything.”

Greg relaxes and places his hands on her shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes. That motion must have screwed something loose, because her eyes immediately start to fill with tears and her chest heaves with a few controlled sobs.

 “Rebecca – I. You know, if you told me how it all ends that first day you walked into Home Base…” Greg smiles, eyes downcast. Rebecca reaches out, instinctively, resting a hand on his hand, still gripping the handle of his rolling bag. She traces a thumb over his knuckles and swallows hard, not allowing the sob to pass her mouth.

“I’d do it all again.” Rebecca looks up to him and he’s looking at her, green eyes shining brightly. The words are enough to make Rebecca lose control of a few spare tears, but she doesn’t break eye contact as the tears roll down her cheeks.

He reaches for her face, one hand entwining her hair, thumb on her cheek. He wipes the tear away, gently.

“I’m proud of you, Bunch. I believe in you. Knock em’ dead.”

As the tears stop falling, he blinks a few times and steps away.

“Goodbye, Rebecca.”

Rebecca bites the inside of her mouth and closes her eyes, hard. When she opens them, he’s already walking away from her.  

“Goodbye, Greg.”

* * *

 

It’s a hot, humid summer day and there’s a probably a dozen or so Greg’s heads in the audience. There’s some concern the glue will just melt straight off the cardboard and Greg’s heads fall straight off the sticks, but Rebecca doesn’t let that stop her from waving her giant Greg face like a giant fan towards their party. White Josh stares at her and rolls his eyes, though even he has to admit, this is a pretty great and extremely embarrassing idea. Serrano’s gonna hate it. Perfect.

Hector, Heather, White Josh, Chris, Josh Chan, hell, even Marco, Shauna and his step-siblings all flew out for this. And all of them were holding up giant cardboard cutouts of Greg’s heads and had party blowers in their mouths, waiting for the right moment.  

 “Okay, for their Masters hoods, Emory School of Business – “they announced.

A few names passed before they finally heard “Gregory S-“ and their whole row stands straight up, screeching, blowing party blowers, whooping and cheering, waving the giant faces they printed out of him into the air much to the annoyance of anyone who was sitting near them.

Rebecca’s smiling so wide that it actually hurts her jaw.

She hadn’t seen him since she drove him to the airport almost four months ago.

And him, walking across that podium, confident strut and standing in front of hundreds of people, clearly beaming as some old professor places the hood over his head, looking on top of the world… Well, it makes her feel warm all over. And not just because its 90 degrees outside.

As Greg sheepishly walks towards them, Hector and White Josh immediately swarm him for a hug. White Josh even picks him up and twirls him around. Marco comes and pats his son on the shoulder. Even Shauna and the twins are yelling excitedly.

When everyone gets their hugs and congratulations in, Rebecca finally approaches him.

“You know, you’re supposed to move your tassel to the left after you graduate.” She teases. Greg’s cheeks are red, and he looks sweltering in his black robes.

“Didn’t realize you were an expert on tassels.”

“Mostly the nipple kind – “ Rebecca mimes spinning tassels with her fingers and Greg bursts out laughing. She glances to the ground, suddenly shy, smile on her face.

“Thanks for coming to this,” Greg says. He points to his family.

“That couldn’t have been easy with… well, you know what happened.” Rebecca lightly elbows him and the two of them laugh.

 “I’m so proud of you.” Rebecca finally says, her voice soft.

“All of this – this was possible because of you.”

Rebecca scoffs. “More like in spite of me.”

Greg starts to walk and puts his arm around Rebecca’s shoulder. She naturally leans her head against him as they walk.

“I’m serious. Rebecca, you changed my life. Sure, a lot of it was bad. Most – most of it was pretty bad. But – but look at this. Four years ago if you told me my life was –going to be like this, I’d never believe you.”

Greg and Rebecca stop a few feet away from where their group is waiting for them.

She looks up at him. _Wow, he’s never looked like this._ Eyes gleaming, smiling wide, cheeks pink, back straight. A curl or two of black hair escaping from underneath his graduation cap. A trickle of sweat was making its way down the back of his ear into the crook of his neck.

“Let me just…” she reaches her hand towards his head, and moves the tassel to the left.

Greg grabs her hand as its trailing down, and she’s looking into his eyes again. Eyes she knows so well she can draw them with her eyes closed.

“Rebecca – “ Greg starts.

He squeezes her hand just once.

“I’m finally ready to come home.”

* * *

In the six months since Greg’s re-opened Serrano’s, hired a new chef and ‘hired’ Chris to be his official taster, life has been a whirlwind.

He never thought he’d be standing in a hot kitchen, apron on, showing a group of chefs the _proper_ way of making fettuccine Bolognese. Its like these guys worked at the _Olive Garden._

But he doesn’t spend much time in the kitchen. Between meeting guests, running budgets, and making sure everyone and everything functioned like a well-oiled machine, he’s been busy. And really happy.

Cherry on top is that Serrano’s is becoming the hangout spot for his friends when they come back into town. Greg is almost always the first to see Nathaniel when he gets back from another trip to the amazon, and Beth and Valencia when they fly in from New York, partially to start picking out venues and planning their wedding.

And, of course, Rebecca. She likes to sit at one of the high-top tables, bring her note book, and write. Sometimes he’d catch her looking at him. He’d flash her a quick smile, and she’d smile back.

When he got a moment, he sat across from her at the table.

“What are you writing?” he asks. He always asks. And she always grips her notebook to her chest, squeaks none of your business and then they just talk.

Today she doesn’t move her notebook away and looks up at Greg, something in her eyes.

“Have you ever – have you ever had close calls? Like to relapsing?” she asks, inquisitive.

“Hah – yeah. Yeah I have. A couple of times. Really close twice.”

“Why?”

“Stupid reasons. Unimportant reasons.”

“Did I... contribute?”

“I would say you didn’t not contribute.” Rebecca scrunched her nose a few times, wrote something in her notebook, and turned it towards Greg.

“I think I’m making good progress.”

The title? Terrible Things I’ve Done to Greg.

“Rebecca, you don’t need to… Oh! Banged my dad is on here twice!”

“Mhhhm. Yeah. That one probably needs to be there a couple of times. I’m actually gonna put this in a song. Draws on some of that raw emotion. Some shock value. Thoughts? Feedback?”

“Rebecca – why dig through old crap? You’re better now. I’m better now. Can’t we enjoy,” Greg motions to the restaurant and to the both of them, “This?”

Rebecca smiles wide and reaches out to touch his hand.

“Greg?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so glad I met you.”

* * *

“What are you doing?” Rebecca peaks into the kitchen, where Greg stands, kneading dough under the light of a single fluorescent bulb.

“Oh, Rebecca –“ Greg stops and looks at her, “What are you still doing here? We closed like, two hours ago.”

“Well – I know. I left. But then I came back.  I saw your Snapchat location was still here. And I was worried about you.”

“God – again with this Snapchat. I don’t know why I haven’t deleted that app off my phone. But, no, yeah, thanks for checking in. The butternut squash and goat cheese ravioli sold out early today so I’m making an extra batch. You – you wanna get in here?”

Rebecca walks through the double doors.

“You definitely don’t want me in a kitchen.”

Greg laughs and goes back to kneading, dusting his hands with flour.  

“Don’t be silly. I know how good you are with dough.”

Rebecca rolls up her sleeves and quickly washes her hands before coming to Greg’s side. She holds her hands up, careful not to touch anything, and watches Greg as he intently kneads the dough.

“Okay, so here,” he starts, and rips off a half of the dough ball. “This is for your half. I have an extra rolling pin over by the sous chef station. You can put this through a pasta machine, but I like to do it by hand. You know, a little bit of that blood sweat and tears in every bite,”

“God, what have you been feeding people?”  
Greg chuckles again.

“Watch me.” He puts flour on the rolling pin and starts to roll. Rebecca watches him for a moment. His face is focused, intent. He let his hair get a tiny bit longer, enough that there were a few bouncy curls on the top of his head and curling behind his ear. He stood tall, towering compared to Rebecca. His sleeves of his white button down are rolled up to his forearms. Rebecca images him with Greg from when she met him, black T-shirt, hiding behind loose hoodies and snarky comments, always a drink in hand.

A wave of emotion hits Rebecca and knocks the wind out of her. She breathes deep and tries to keep the tears out of her eyes.

“Hey, I don’t see you rolling,” Greg jokes. One glance in her direction and he stops his work, concern in his eyes.

“Hey – Rebecca. Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

She immediately embraces him, standing on her tippy-toes, full on bear hug, hands covered in flour and all.

Greg pauses for a minute, then hugs her back.

“Are you okay... Bunch?” he whispers in her ear. She burrows her head into his chest, nodding.

“I actually am. We – we actually are. We’re okay now. I can’t believe…we’re both okay.”

Greg rests his chin on the top of her head. For the first time in a while, his muscles relax, jaw unclenches and the stress from the day dissipates.

“Hey – we’re gonna keep being okay. Its going to take a lot of work. Every day. But we’re going to be okay.”

He kisses the top of her head and she releases him from her hug, clearly having smeared eyeliner into the armpit of his nice, clean white button down.

She snorts through her tears. “Oh man I’m so sorry – I didn’t mean to.”

Greg smiles. “Nah, don’t worry. You made it better. Now, stop avoiding work and get to rolling.”

Rebecca nods, wiping the stray tear from her eye, sniffles, and grabs the rolling pin.

* * *

Just like Bunch to make this huge production on Valentine’s Day. One of the busiest days of the year for a restaurant. But Greg leaves it in the now semi-reliable hands of Marco Serrano. Some old locals even recognize him. The old man gets a kick out of being boss for a day.

Its Valentines day. A year ago today, Rebecca sat next to Greg in Serrano’s, took his hand, and told him that she wasn’t going to choose anyone. That she was choosing music.

After seeing her scribbling away on her notebook on that little two top table at Serrano’s for the past year, Greg has to admit, he has butterflies in his stomach. Even if they are old and mostly digested. White Josh finds him pretty quickly in the fairly thick crowd. Wow. Most of the people are there for her.

A well of pride builds up in Greg at that realization.

“Just like Rebecca to make this some big production – “ White Josh laments, sipping on his beer.

“Hey – be nice. She put a lot of work into this.”

“Dude. Greg. Come on. You’re not – she’s not – you’re –“

Greg laughs, keeping his eyes on Rebecca, who’s now setting up on the stage. She’s wearing a red dress and heels. Her hair was loose and wavy, like it was when she got out of the shower. Her voice shakes a little bit as she ‘tests’ the microphone.

Greg smiles at her. He’s known her for five years and this is most nervous he’s ever seen her. It was… cute.

“You don’t have to worry about any of that.”

Rebecca is on stage, standing in front of a microphone. She’s fidgety but radiant, mouth unable to stop smiling. Greg feels a small pang in his chest and lets it warm him from the inside out.

“Thank you all – for coming here today. Over this past year, I’ve made some important changes, and made one of the most important decisions in my life. And now, a year later… I wanted to share it with West Covina first. Because…” Rebecca looks up from the microphone, the lights bright in her eyes. In the background, she can see Nathaniel, standing against a wall. Josh smiling, close to the front. Valencia and Beth, Heather and Hector all staring up at her from a booth.

“None of this would be possible. Or probably. Or – or conceivable. Without this town. And the people in it.” She pauses, smiling brightly, chin held high. “This is the first time I’ve ever been truly, truly happy.” She raises the octave of her voice, “I love you West Covina!”

Rebecca hears Josh whoop out loudly along with scattered applause. She bites her lip and makes her way over to the piano on the right. In front of it, a songbook.

She looks up and, finally, sees Greg across the room. He mouths ‘Hi’ to her.

“Hi, Greg.” She says into the microphone. They look at each other for a spare second, and she opens up her songbook and rifles through the pages.

 “God, I wish you were not still single. I will not feel safe until one of you is married.”

Greg laughs, immediately shooshing WhiJo. “Oh, shhh. Let her talk.”

The lights dim.

“This is a song I wrote.”


	17. Chapter 17

And if Greg starts an open mic night at Serrano’s on Tuesday nights, its definitely not because of Rebecca.

With the quality of her music, honestly, it would be in _spite_ of Rebecca.

But Greg did the calculations, and if all of Rebecca’s friends and former co-workers and potential future and past love interests come on Tuesday nights, their lowest earning day, well, it would definitely benefit the restaurant.

Not Greg. This really has nothing to do with him, at all.

And definitely not because when he heard her sing for the first time, quivering voice and uncertain hands on the piano, smiling through the whole song, messy and vulnerable and _beautiful_ that he knew that he wanted to hear her sing every day. For the rest of his life.

* * *

And if she chooses, as is her right, to sing songs only at Serrano’s, well, it definitely has nothing to do with Greg.

The problem was this other spot didn’t really give out good times at the open mic. And there wasn’t much food. And the MC was a jerk and definitely intentionally mispronounces her name. Regina Nota Brunch she could understand.

But Ruth Neeta Blanch? Rosemary Nopa Bridge? Come on!

At Greg’s she always got better times and the acoustics were better.

And if Greg stops what he’s doing every time she starts to play, looks at her with a gentleness in his eyes that make her feel like she can do anything in the world, warming her face and bringing life to her fingers in front of her keyboard, well, that’s  just an added bonus.

And if Greg listened to every song, listened to her soul, saw her emotionally naked – as opposed to physically naked, which he has, many times – and the giant rift of unsaid words and missed opportunities starts to close, well. Maybe they don’t have to be broken people anymore.

* * *

 

Rebecca is chewing on her pen, staring hard at the piano keys as she hears the knocking on the door.

“Come in!” she quips, not looking up from the piano.

Greg walks in with a bag in his hands and the room suddenly fills with the scents of pasta, tomatoes and garlic.

“Hey Rebetzel – I missed you at the restaurant today. Everything okay?”

“Yeah – yeah. I just got really into this. I think I’m on to something.”

Greg sets down the bag and grabs a chair, sitting next to Rebecca.

“You want to share?”

“You… want to hear it?” Rebecca asks shyly.

“Come on. I always wanna hear about your stuff. Tell me.”

“Okay – so hear me out. Curtain opens. There’s a giant Styrofoam pretzel and a sign for West Covina. Maybe we’ll have some sand, and a beach ball somewhere in the corner, because, you know, we’re only two hours from the beach.” She glances at Greg as he mouths, ‘four.’ And grins. “And it opens to this big, orchestra like sound. Its this grandiose opening. But the juxtaposition between that and the town itself becomes, like, glaring to the audience, right? And then…”

Rebecca plays a chord. “West Covinaaaa, California. I don’t want to dilly dally on the way to the pride of San Gabriel Valley! My whole life’s about to change…” Rebecca pauses and looks at Greg, who is smiling expectantly back at her.

“You’re writing a musical?” Greg asks. Rebecca hasn’t heard anyone put it into words yet, didn’t really admit it to herself. But. But yes.

“I guess I am.”

Greg places a gentle hand on her back and rubs a few times.

“I’m proud of you, Bunch.”

Rebecca snaps out of her haze momentarily and stares at the clock.

“Oh my gosh, Greg, its 10 pm. Have you eaten anything?”

“No, not yet. I was going to head back to the restaurant and…”

“That’s nonsense! Did you actually bring _me_ food?”

Greg smiles sheepishly and motions to the brown paper bag sitting on her counter.

“I know how much you like the lasagna. We had some left over. I just thought…”

“Have _you_ actually had any of this recently?”

Greg scratches his head. “No, not really. I let the staff take home all the leftovers usually.”

“Then – then let’s heat it up in the oven. I’ll – I’ll grab you a sparkling water.”

Sitting next to each other, Rebecca with her glass of wine and Greg with a glass of fizzy water, Rebecca bites into her lasagna and makes a pseudo-orgasmic face.

“I will _never_ get tired of your food, Serrano. You’re a genius.”

Greg puts down his fork for a minute, chewing through a sheepish smile.

“I thought you didn’t like sparking water.” Greg says, pouring some more into his glass from the San Pellegrino bottle.

“Ew, no. No, I do not.”

“Why do you have it, then?”

Rebecca smiles into her food. She bumps knees with Greg under the table and doesn’t move them, keeping his gaze.

“Why are you always asking so many questions?”

* * *

Beth and Valencia get married on Manhattan Beach. It works quite well, as its by El Segundo, so Hector and Heather can host some people and help with the setup.

Its smaller, per Beth’s preference, with only 50 or so people invited, but extravagant, per Valencia’s preference, so they get married with crystal lamps lining the beach, during sunset, and serve lobster and steak. 

Josh takes Rebecca’s hand and leads her into an elegant waltz.

“Mr. Chan,” she addresses him formally. He grins at her.  
“Ms. Bunch. Its good to see you.”

“I loved your proposal video, by the way. The magically appearing ring in the box? Super romantic. I’m so proud of you, buddy.” She says, and he keeps grinning, casting shy glances towards his fiancé, who lifts a drink to the two of them.

“We’re all still waiting on, well, you know. You and,” Josh nods his head a few times towards their table, where Greg was sitting. Blood rushes to Rebecca’s cheeks immediately and she looks down.

“We aren’t – haven’t, Greg and I – we’re not…”

“May I have this dance?” Rebecca looks up and there’s Nathaniel. Tanned and slightly more rugged from the outdoors, in a sharp suit. He let his hair get a little longer. Josh shrugs and happily hands Rebecca off to continue the waltz.

“Look at you. Different hair since 1998?”

“You know, quite a paucity of hair styling product in Guatemala.”

“How is it, by the way? How are you?”

“Animal conservatorship law is… brutal. Luckily, my savings here set me up pretty well in Guatemala. And… and I love it. Its fulfilling. And amazing. I don’t think I’m going to… come back. Anytime soon.” Nathaniel looks at her meaningfully and she nods.

“And the songwriting?”

“I’ve… I’ve had this idea for a musical. About West Covina. There’s a character based on you and everything. Its… its difficult but between that, and Rebetzels, everything is just… amazing.”

“And… with, you know? I see that Valencia sat you next to each other at the table, have you finally…” Nathaniel also motions to Greg, who is now up and chatting with Heather and Hector.

Rebecca sighs dramatically and tries to hide her smile.

“Why does – he’s not – we’re not – “

“Not what?” she hears, and she turns to see Greg standing next to the two of them, his hand extended. Nathaniel nods approvingly and hands Rebecca’s hand off to him, and the two of them continue the waltz.

“Hey, doesn’t this feel familiar? Almost six years ago?” she asks, hands draped over his shoulders as they sway easily. In tune. He holds on to her waist. They are close. Impeccably close.

“You mean when I acted like a jerk and broke your heart? Or the part where you slept with my best friend and broke my heart right back?”

“Yes. Both those things.”

Greg smiles and grips Rebecca’s waist a little tighter. He leans hid face against the side of her head. His warm breath on her ear is making her head spin.

“I don’t care about those things. If that’s what we had to go through to be where we are now – then that’s what we had to go through.”

She closes her eyes and lets her head rest against his shoulders. Even his scent has changed. Sure, still that aftershave, but now a distinct smell of tomato sauce and garlic and rich, smoky wood.

She pulls away slightly to look up at him, eyes glazed over. He looks at her with such an unparalleled gentleness and moves one hand from her waist to cup her face. She moves just a little closer, now -

“Rebecca, get up here girl! I thought you wrote us a song!” Valencia calls over the microphone and Rebecca pulls apart from Greg momentarily.

“I should – “

Greg smiles again and pulls her in close. He gently kisses her forehead, one soft slow peck that sends lightning bolts shooting through Rebecca.

“Go get ‘em.” 

* * *

 

**Today:**

Valentine’s day is an impeccably, ridiculously busy day. Serrano’s is booked out, which is a great point of pride for Greg, but the turnover is so crazy that he busses tables, delivers drinks, takes orders. Fills in when he can.

The fact that Valentine’s day fell on a Tuesday this week and he didn’t explicitly tell Rebecca not to come, though he feels that should be implied, didn’t necessarily make his night easier. Half the time he’s tripping over the microphone wires when he’s running back into the kitchen and the screech of the sound system turning on elicits many annoyed glares in his direction. Even better, Rebecca brought her usual posse that’s crowding out all the real, paying customers. Hector, Heather, WhiJo, Josh and Rose, half of Rebecca’s former office, just standing around, cradling their single glasses of wine. _Not even buying two glasses of wine. On Valentine’s day._ Greg grumbles to himself. He has to admit. He’s a little annoyed.

As Rebecca bounds across the floor for the sixth time in the past half hour, Greg stops her.

“Rebecca – why are there so _many_ people here? You gotta know its Valentines day. That’s a busy day for restaurants.”

She’s beaming up at him and bounces from foot to foot.

“I know, but I have a surprise for you!”

“God – Rebecca. I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one!” she yelled out as she hopped away to the piano.

“Doubt it.” Greg mumbles under his breath as he shakes a few hands with his friends and other patrons at the bar and grabs drinks to bring to table 6.

When the lights dim a little and Rebecca’s voice comes over the microphone, barely audible over the clutter of the kitchen, okay, Greg is definitely more than little annoyed.

“So – everyone. West Covina. I’m Rebecca Nora Bunch. Hi. So last year, on Valentines day, I played my first song. And now, here at Serrano’s, and surrounded by all my best friends and family – this is a song I wrote. About a boy.”

Greg’s head shoots out from the kitchen. _What is she doing?_

She rang something on the ground and, Jesus, did she bring _bells?_

A small trill and Rebecca’s voice, still shaky but more in tune, over the music.

(to the tune of Oh My God I Think I Like You)

“I’ve been playing in here for a year and a half

Baring to you my he-a-art

It’s a work in progress and I hope it gets better

So thank you all for taking pa-a-art

But as I sit here before

The people I most adore

I have to sing something from my very core –

 

Greg Serrano, I still love you.

And, to add, I’ve always loved you.

 

Its scary but you make me feel all the feels

But when I’m with you, I know that love can be real!

So Greg Serrano, I still love you.

Obviously I still love you.

 

You might say no no no this is way too complex

And maybe no no no we’ve been down this road Becks

But it’s my truth I had to say it, even if it brings pain

So all I can do is sing it again!

Greg Serrano I still love you.

 

Loved you at Home Base when you were pouring me drinks

Loved you on the bridge with the ducks

Loved you in Atlanta working on your degree

Loved you even though it sucks

That I waited 6 long years to finally face my fears

 

So, sorry, Greg, I really love you.

* * *

She stops playing and all eyes are on Greg. He’s bright red, tips of his ears the most, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“I – uh.”

Greg goes directly into the kitchen away from all the eyes. Rebecca follows him in.

“Did – did that not work?”

“Rebecca, what are you doing? Why?”

“I just… I wanted you to know. Not just you. Everybody.”

“…Why?” Greg repeats, simply astonished.

“Because its always been you. I just – I had to wade through the muck and the confusion to find that. I – I never could express how I feel until – until now. Does that make sense?”

“Serrano-o-o” his kitchen workers yelled, banging pots and pans together and whistling at the two of them.

“I –“ Greg shakes his head and grabs Rebecca’s hand, taking them into what has to be the walk-in pantry. At least with the door closed, the noise outside is muffled, and its just the two of them. Alone. In this dark room.

“What am I supposed to say? Rebecca – you have to know that I’m _dating._ Its been two years.”

Rebecca grips him by the shoulders shakes him softly.

“You’re overthinking this! I’m not – I’m not asking you for a relationship. I’m not asking you to – to love me back. I just wanted you to know. That I did before. And currently still do. Now.”

“Rebecca… come on,” he shakes his head, “– _of course_ I love you back. I never stopped. And don’t think I ever will. But – all of this. This restaurant. These open mics. Your garlic knots. Our friends, coming here, and feeling at home. These have been the greatest joys of my life. I can’t lose that. And I can’t lose you.”

Rebecca reaches down to grip Greg’s hands, which are super clammy for some reason.

“Why would you lose me?”

“We have tried this so many times. But inevitably, things will get hard. And one of us will relapse. And all of this will fall apart.”

Knocking on the door.

“Are you two banging? Because if so Hector owes me 20 bucks.”

Greg grits his teeth and opens the door to find White Josh, Hector, Paula and Heather all situated around them.

“No one is banging,” Greg barks out and rushes back into the kitchen, grabbing plates to bring to tables.

The five remaining people stand motionless in the kitchen.

“Rebecca, did Greg just – reject you?” Heather asks, truly perplexed.

“Hm. Yeah. Yeah I guess he did.” She doesn’t look sad, though. She has a big smile on her face.

WhiJo tilts his head and shrugs his shoulders.

“Damn. Good for him.”

* * *

The taste of burned coffee is fresh on Greg’s throat before he, inadvertently, volunteers to share again. The chairs are in a circle and there’s a few familiar faces, with Guardrail sitting mountain-like as their leader. Marco’s missing this meeting as Greg and him began alternating days to always have a Serrano at the restaurant. Today, Greg is deeply grateful for that.  

“So yeah. The girl I’ve been in love with for 6 years loves me back. But I can’t do anything about it. Our lives, my life with her, is so good now. Its this weird limbo where I don’t want to change things.”

“This is Rebecca.” One of the voices in the circle said. He wasn’t sure he recognized them. Or that he’s ever told them about any of this.

“Yes?”

Another voice quipped up. Another unfamiliar face. “Rebecca, who three years ago you went back to after she bopped your pops?”

“Hm. Yep. Yep.” Greg nods, putting his hands in his pockets and starting to sit down.

Guardrail finishes the inquisition, “ This is the Rebecca who you wanted to tell you loved her too so badly that you got a DUI five years ago. That same Rebecca.”

 “Yes. Yes that Rebecca. How – how do all of you…?”

An older woman speaks up, “You talk about her a _lot._ ”

“O-okay…” Greg replies, suddenly very exposed to all of the people in this room.

Guardrail continues. “You’re telling me this girl loves you back and you said… no?”

Greg shrugs. “Just about.”

Guardrail smiles and pats Greg on the back a few times. His heavy hand causes Greg to lurch forward, almost spilling his coffee.

“Maybe this means you’re finally ready for her.”

* * *

Paula sits on the couch expectantly. Rebecca plays a few simple noted on the piano and nods excitedly.

“Okay, okay. I started thinking about this one last week. You know, after – after I bore my heart to Greg and he rejected me and I cried for like four hours. Okay. Here goes.”

(To the tone of Settle For Me)

We’ve grown together

From where I stand

You were my light and guidance

And you took my hand

And I know you said you wouldn’t wait

For me anymore

So, even though

I’m not the girl from before…

Why not…

Try this with me?

Why not just try this with me?

I think you’ll have to agree

The love was always there

I know I’ve waited six long years for this chance

But like aging fine wine

Or prosciutto ham

I couldn’t rush romance

so Greg please

Try this with me?

Oh yes please try this with me

 

I promise we can build this from the bottom

Its take some time to fix it but we’ll see

I want to put in the work

So Greg, try this with me

 

The piano lines are a little too ambitious despite the two years of lessons Rebecca has been taking, but Paula places a hand over hear heart and smiles earnestly at Rebecca anyway.

“Wow, so you’re really ready, huh?” Paula asks. “You’re gonna play that at the restaurant this week?”

Rebecca pauses.

"Nah. I don’t think so. I’m not going to bombard him. I’ve just been having so much _fun_ writing about him.” 

“Oh Cookie… you’re been writing about him for a long, _long_ time.”

* * *

White Josh is trying to smoothly spin a glass of wine with his index and middle finger as Greg talks.

“I don’t know what I should do. I _love_ Rebecca. And I guess part of me was waiting for her to finally be ready but now that she is …”

White Josh interjected, “I thought you were dating,”

“Right. Right. Yes. I am. Was. Currently am. Anyway. Intellectually, there’s a million reasons for us not to get together. We’re so great as friends.”

White Josh lets out a loud, exasperated sign and hunches over.

“How are we back here _again?_ Dude, then do _nothing._ It wouldn’t change anything.”

“What do you mean?”

White Josh groans. “You’re making me spell this out _again?_ Dude you are not that dumb. You went to Emory,” Greg beams a little before scrunching up his eyebrows again.

“What are you saying?”

“How many times have you seen Rebecca this week?”

Greg looks off into the distance, squints his eyes and makes a show of counting on his fingers.

“Well, last night she was hanging out at Serrano’s and was there until close, so I drove her home. Then on Wednesday, we grabbed dinner at that taco place on East Cameron and I watched some crappy reality TV while she wrote. Then on Tuesday, well, that’s open mic night. And on Monday…”

“Every day. You see her _every_ day. You spend _most_ of your free time with her. And that’s not just coming from me. AJ lives in that house and told me you are over. A lot.”

“You talk to AJ? Since when?”

“Dude, ask yourself. What would change if you dated? Sex? No longer pretending that its normal ‘friend’ stuff to spend each waking moment with someone? Ok-ay.”

* * *

Greg paces the kitchen in Serrano’s. As soon as Paula pokes her head in through the double doors, he pulls her in and quickly looks outside to make sure she wasn’t followed. Everyone is setting up for the open mic night but it doesn’t look like any of the crew has made it in yet. Good.

“Greg, what are you doing?”

"Hey – so. You’re Rebecca’s best friend, right? 

“Slash mother. Yes.” 

“Well, so – I think – I’d like to… you know. I’d like to ask Rebecca…. For a date. Should I?”

Paula looks around.

  
“Am… am I on a prank show? You’ve had sex with Rebecca, like, a billion times. You’ve gone on many dates. Why… why are you asking me?”

“Because… you never really liked me for her. And you know her well. So. I just thought. I’d ask why.”

“Greg….” Paula starts, and she puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You have to understand that… I was _wrong._ You two were just meant to be. I see that now. Any way you ask her would be the right way. You just have to ask her.”

“We… we’re what? Hold on – what?”

“Du-u-u-de,’ Hector says, bursting into the kitchen. Greg almost jumps out of his skin. He didn’t think anyone was here yet for the open mic. Jesus Christ. Freakin’ Hector. 

“You’re finally gonna ask out Re-be-kahhh. But, uh, aren’t you nervous that she’ll, you know, go back to Josh or Nathaniel or something?”

Greg sighs and leans against one of the counters, appearing to be deep in thought.

“I guess… after all this time, I realize… One person will never fulfill every need someone has. So Rebecca could go on water slides with Josh Chan. Or to the zoo with Nathaniel. But. Crazy as it sounds, I think… she chose to build her life with me. And I didn’t have a name for it yet. I’ve never… never seen something like it before. But… I love her. And I think we have a real shot of… building a life together.”

“Greg…”

Greg’s head shoots up to the entrance of the kitchen. Rebecca. _Oh no_. She looks like she’s near tears. She pauses only for a second before swinging the doors wide open and jumping straight into his arms.

Behind them in the dining room, he hears some very distinct yells – “I JUST WON 20,000 DOLLARS,” distinctly Valencia over the phone with someone, “THREE ROWING MACHINES FOR DADDY,” that one is WhiJo. Wait.

Greg takes Rebecca’s hand and they go out to the dining room.

Darryl, WhiJo, Josh Chan, Hector, Heather… everyone. Sitting at the restaurant. And they’re clapping. Greg is immediately tries to back himself up into the kitchen, but Rebecca grabs his hand and looks him in the eyes.

“Hey – did you mean that? Do you… do you want to do this?”

Greg blushes but grips Rebecca’s hands tight, in front of everyone in their lives, looking only into her eyes.

“Well –? Do you want to build a life with me? Not just a few dates, or a few rolls in the hay. The real deal. You and me. What do you say?”

Rebecca grins.

“When do we start?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was an insane, caffeine fueled two week labor of love. I did not have this beta'd so I hope there aren't too many glaring mistakes. Its been an amazing joy in life for me to fall in love with Greg and Rebecca - I'm of the school of thought that mentally ill people can change, and grow, and support, and love each other and watching them on their journey from 'two broken people' to two 'happy fulfilled people' has been a blast. Thank you Rachel Bloom and thank you Crazy Ex Girlfriend!
> 
> Part 2 coming soon! :)


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